


we've got a story, a dotted line

by agentrhiannon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Post TLJ, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Burn, TROS Rewrite, eventual domestic bliss, eventually, i just want my babies to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentrhiannon/pseuds/agentrhiannon
Summary: Ben Solo comes to her in dreams.She knows it’s a dream and not their bond, because in her dreams he smiles. She sees the echo of his father in him, his movements looser, more languid, almost feline. She sees blue, and forests, and waves, and rain—the ghost of the future they might have had, if things were different.He cups her cheek with his hand, and he calls her Rey, and she wakes up.---A rewrite of TROS with the fluffy ending everyone deserves.
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 66
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

Ben Solo comes to her in dreams.

She knows it’s a dream and not their bond, because in her dreams he smiles. She sees the echo of his father in him, his movements looser, more languid, almost feline. She sees blue, and forests, and waves, and rain—the ghost of the future they might have had, if things were different.

He cups her cheek with his hand, and he calls her _Rey,_ and she wakes up.

The room is pitch black. She stares up at the ceiling in the darkness, willing her heart to stop racing. It’s still beyond early, and she can hear the shifting blankets and soft breathing of the room’s three other occupants. Space is tight at the new Resistance base; they’re jammed into the barracks like womp rats in a burrow.

Rey slips out of bed and crosses the room on cat feet. She pulls open the single drawer allotted to her, reaching for a change of clothes, and her hand brushes the broken pieces of Luke’s lightsaber. Whispers of Jedi long dead echo in her mind, faint now that the kyber crystal is cracked, urging her to pick up the saber and face her destiny.

The saber is unusable, but that’s alright with her. Whenever she looks at the pieces, all she can hear is Luke’s voice in her head.

_You went straight to the dark._

_It offered you something you needed. And you didn’t even try to stop yourself._

That was before she went to the cave on Ahch-To. Before she went to Kylo Ren. Before she nearly took his hand.

Tempted by the dark side, indeed. Luke didn’t know the half of it.

She shuts the drawer and pushes the whispers away.

She changes quickly, scrubs her face and neck in the ‘fresher down the hall, and begins making her way to the training grounds, quarterstaff in hand and blaster in her belt.

She feels more than sees him slip into step next to her.

Neither of them speak.

They never do.

Somehow the bond remains intact, even though by Snoke’s own admission it should have died with him. Not that he was exactly trustworthy. Maybe he had been trying to rattle his apprentice. Maybe he had been hiding something from them. Maybe he had simply been an arrogant, bragging fool, laying claim to powers he did not have.

Rey often wishes that, in this one thing, he had told the truth.

Despite her best efforts to ignore him (and, she suspects, his to ignore her), their bond seems to only be getting stronger. He appears in her periphery more frequently and for longer stretches.

Like always, her muscles tense. Her fingers itch toward the blaster at her hip, though she knows it will do no good.

After a few minutes, he fades, and she is alone again. She lets out her breath in a shaky huff, body relaxing.

Like always, she hopes and fears that this is the last time.

Like always, she knows it is not.

***

She should be meditating. It’s supposed to be calming, and after this morning (and last night) she could certainly use the peace it’s meant to bring. But—well, frankly, she finds meditation boring. More often than not, she dozes off. Even with a quarterstaff, the repetitive movements of the lightsaber training drills Leia has taught her are better at clearing her mind. She works her way through several rounds of exercises with her staff before she senses Leia’s presence nearby, observing. She finishes her drills, takes deep, slow breaths to center herself, and makes her way to Leia’s side.

Leia says nothing, just waits.

Rey pours herself a cup of water from the pump and splashes some on her face for good measure. She stands, sipping her water and observing the horizon, just starting to hint at dawn. She’s usually up early so she can have the training grounds to herself, but this is pushing it, even for her.

Eyes still trained on the horizon, she sets the cup down and says, “I saw him again this morning.”

She has only told a few people about her Force bond with Kylo Ren. Leia is one; Finn, another, because she could never keep anything from him; Poe, because Finn could never keep anything from _him_ ; and Rose, because—well, she likes Rose.

She’s told none of them about the dreams. (But she wonders if Leia knows anyway.)

“That’s the third time this week,” Leia says, voice steady, unrevealing, ever the politician.

“Fourth,” Rey corrects quietly.

“Hm.” Leia’s lips purse in a tiny frown. “And you still don’t know why?”

Rey shakes her head. Threepio has been helping her translate the Jedi texts she took from Ahch-To, but they’re written in such an ancient dialect that it’s slow going, even for a protocol droid. “So far, the texts say almost nothing about Force bonds. They’re mentioned in passing, but I wonder if even the ancient Jedi didn’t really understand them.”

“And you’re still sure—” Leia hesitates. “You’re still sure you want to break this bond?”

“Yes,” Rey says firmly. “It puts us all at risk. I might accidentally give our location if I’m not careful.” She stops herself before she can add, _And I’m certainly not careful when it comes to Ben._

“I understand,” Leia says, and sighs heavily. Rey wonders idly if she is sighing at the situation, or for her son. “I wish I knew more about these bonds. I wish I knew more about _all_ of this. But Luke could only teach me what he knew, and his sources of knowledge were limited. Still, given time, I’m certain you’ll learn about many things Luke never did, including this force bond.”

“But I don’t _have_ time.” Momentary frustration pulses through Rey’s hands. She clenches her fist around her staff. “I _need_ to break this bond.”

“You’re impatient, my girl.” Leia gives a small, fond smile. “Luke was the same, when he was your age. But rebellions take time, and so does Jedi training, and so does restoring an ancient religion whose practitioners are long dead.” Rey’s frustration is replaced by sudden shame, and her cheeks color. “Rey, you have come incredibly far in the short time you’ve been training. It took me years to get anywhere near your abilities with a saber, and I was never half so skilled as you are.” Leia takes Rey’s hand in both of hers. “Your form is excellent. But you’re neglecting your link with the Force. Spend more time in meditation. Let the Force flow through you. Take time to seek out a connection with the Jedi of the past. They may be able to teach you what I can’t.”

Rey sighs and nods. Leia is right. Whenever she’s not out on a mission or studying the Jedi texts, she is here, on the training grounds. Meditation is not her strong suit. But if she can strengthen her connection to the ancient Jedi, maybe they can teach her how to break her bond with Kylo Ren. She smiles a little sheepishly.

“I’ll do my best, Leia.”

“I know you will.” Leia drops her hands. “Now, aren’t you leaving on a mission this morning?”

“Yes, we’re supposed to leave at dawn.”

Leia lifts her arms and gestures at the sky, which, Rey suddenly realizes, has become bright and rosy. “Better get a move on.”

Rey swears and belts in the direction of the shuttle bay, where the _Millennium Falcon_ is waiting.

***

Kijimi is freezing, and Rey hates it.

She loves planets thriving with water and growing things, but she’s a desert girl born and bred. Every time she scouts here, dodging between frigid alleys and slipping on icy street corners, she starts to picture endless sand and golden heat shimmers. Any planet that makes her miss the barren wasteland of Jakku this much is truly nightmarish.

“Are we sure she even got your message?” she grumbles for the third time in as many minutes. She’s bundled in the biggest parka she could snatch from the Resistance supply and she’s _still_ cold. They’ve been standing at the mouth of this alley for a good fifteen minutes now. If they have to wait much longer, they could be noticed. _Or freeze to death_ , Rey thinks. Whichever comes first.

“She’ll be here,” Poe assures her. (When she turns away, stomping her feet in an effort to get warm, he checks the watch in his pocket.)

“She’d better be quick,” Rose warns, leaning against the alley wall and listening intently to the earpiece she’s hacked to tap into First Order frequencies. “We’ve got two squadrons passing this way in about five minutes.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” Poe pats the blaster at his hip, glancing around the corner again.

“I think you’re missing the point of a stealth mission,” Finn observes, arms folded, eyebrows raised. “Two squadrons of dead stormtroopers isn’t exactly subtle—”

He’s cut off by a blaster jammed into his back.

“It’s after curfew, scum.” The stormtrooper behind Finn is followed by four others who aim their weapons at Rose, Rey, and Poe. All four of them slowly raise their hands. “I’m going to need to see some identification,” the stormtrooper continues, her voice rough.

Finn’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “We don’t have any.”

The leader scoffs. “Looks like you’re coming with us then.” She gestures down the street with her blaster. “Move. And don’t get any ideas, or we’ll be getting some target practice tonight.”

Hands behind their heads and surrounded by stormtroopers, the group makes its way through the twisting streets of Kijimi for what seems like an age, until finally the stormtroopers stop in front of an unassuming door near the edge of town. The leader types in a code and the door swishes open.

“Get in.”

They enter a dingy room, lit by flickering lights and barely warmer than it is outside. When all four prisoners and their captors are inside, the door slides shut.

The stormtroopers lower their blasters and remove their helmets. Their leader unties her brilliant, curly hair, runs a hand through it to shake it loose, and grins.

Finn’s face bursts into a matching smile. “Jannah!” He wraps her in a massive bear hug. They were close friends as young recruits; Jannah and her comrades have been working with the Resistance to collect intelligence and turn as many other stormtroopers to their cause as they can. It’s slow-going, but more than once Jannah’s assistance has proven vital to Resistance missions.

Poe nudges Rey with his elbow. “I told you she’d come,” he smirks. Rey rolls her eyes.

Rose is already plugging her equipment into the terminals lining the walls. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

“This safe house is secure,” Jannah says, stepping away from Finn. “No one will find us here, I swear it. We’ve been using it for nearly a year now to smuggle stuff in and out of the town.” She jerks her chin towards a door to another room. “There’s a secret panel back there that opens up to a tunnel into the mountains.”

“Still,” Rose says, biting her lip and glancing at the door to the street. Rey knows she tends to become anxious on time-sensitive missions—one such failed mission and a very close brush with death was enough, thank you very much. “No reason to take an unnecessary risk.”

“You’re right,” Finn says, coming to stand behind Rose and squeezing her shoulder with his hand. “The sooner we can get this over with, the better. Let’s get started.” He and Rose exchange soft smiles, and Rey feels like she should look away.

“Right then,” Jannah says, nodding. “What have you got for us?”

Two of the stormtroopers station themselves at the door while Jannah, Finn, Rose, and Poe begin transferring data between the terminals and Rose’s portable workstation. Rey watches with interest but not much understanding—she is mostly here as pilot (Poe may be the hotshot flyer, but the _Millennium Falcon_ is _her_ ship) and extra muscle. The actual exchange of secret intelligence is not her forte.

She is amusing herself twirling a pebble through the air with the Force when—

_Rey._

The pebble clatters to the floor.

The others look up at her. “You okay?” Poe asks, brow furrowed.

“Yes.” Her heart is racing. “Did—did one of you call me?”

“No…” Poe exchanges a glance with Finn.

“Oh, it… My mind was playing tricks on me, I guess.” Rey shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, though she can tell they don’t buy it. “Keep working. I’m fine. Really.”

They return to their screens, but Rey leaves the pebble where it fell. She is attuned to her feelings, now, listening intently through the Force, waiting to feel—

_There_. There it is again. A presence, faint, but real. Calling to her. Pulling her towards the back of the safe house. She opens the door into the next room and recognizes the false panel in the wall.

“Jannah?”

Jannah looks up and reads the question on Rey’s face. “Go for it. I wouldn’t wander too far though, if I were you. Bit of a maze back there.”

Rey nods her thanks and enters the back room. Her fingers find the grooves in the secret panel and she lifts it away to reveal the mouth of a tunnel, faintly lit by green-glowing alcoves. An icy draft blows straight through her in spite of her parka.

The presence touches her mind again.

She steps inside.

Despite Jannah’s warning, she finds herself moving deeper and deeper into the mountainside, not quite sure why she turns where she does, only that each tunnel seems to bring her closer to that voice in the Force. And she absolutely must find it.

Until she comes to a dead end.

Frustrated, she pushes on the wall, searching for another fake door, a way forward, but it’s no use; this is solid stone. But she is confident this was the right way. Maybe the voice isn’t actually here, she considers. Maybe it led her here because it’s as close as she can possibly come, for now. The presence feels incredibly close now, and yet not close enough.

Rey reaches out with her feelings to touch it, and the Force _shudders._

The presence is—warm. Inviting. Weathered and patient, like a kindly old man. She lets her consciousness reach farther, curious and tempted by the promise of… she doesn’t know what. Something about this presence promises answers—answers she is desperate to find.

“Rey,” she hears, faintly. Someone is calling her, in person, but she’s so close to finding that voice, she can’t stop now. She reaches farther, deeper, feels her mind brush against something ancient—

“Rey!” Her mind floods back into her body as someone shakes her by the shoulders. She blinks once, twice, confused.

“Finn?”

“Rey!” he gasps, his relief palpable. “Are you okay? You were just standing there, staring at nothing. You weren’t answering me. I thought—”

“I’m fine,” she assures him. She notes the fear on his face and the stiffness in her knees. How long has she been here? Her gut twinges with unease. “How did you find me?”

“I don’t know. I-I suddenly just had this feeling, like you were in trouble, and I knew exactly where you were.”

Rey’s stomach drops. “We have to go. Now.”

“What? _Why?_ ”

“You found me through the Force. And if you could feel where I was, so could Kylo Ren. He’s probably already on his way. We have to get out of here.”

Finn takes barely a millisecond to process this before holding out his hand. She takes it, and together they sprint towards the safe house.

She’s not sure how they find their way out of the maze of tunnels—the Force, probably—but they manage to get back with only one wrong turn. The others jump up from the terminals as they burst into the room.

“We have to leave,” Rey announces. “It’s not safe here anymore.” Rose and Poe immediately start disconnecting cords and throwing equipment into bags.

Jannah looks bewildered. “But—”

“There’s no time to explain. Jannah, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll be able to use this place as a safe house anymore. Will you be able to change locations?”

Jannah nods, determined. “We’ll make it work.” She directs the two stormtroopers not on guard to start wiping equipment, and within minutes the safe house is cleared, the tunnel the only sign anyone was ever here.

The stormtroopers replace their helmets; one checks the monitors showing the street outside and gives the all clear. Jannah and Finn share one last embrace. “You four had better get out of here.” She steps away. “May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you,” they murmur back. They open the door and go their separate ways.

Miraculously, they make it back to the _Millennium Falcon_ without incident. Rey can hardly believe their luck as she practically dives into the pilot’s seat and prepares for takeoff.

It’s not until they’ve broken through Kijimi’s atmosphere and Poe is punching in the coordinates for lightspeed that she hears the low _boom_ of a ship leaving hyperspace and she feels— _him._ She doesn’t have to look out the viewport to know the arriving ship belongs to the Supreme Leader. She senses his mind reaching out across the void to touch hers, grasping and eager. Her stomach fills with dread and— _yearning_ —

She slams the connection shut.

“Punch it!” she cries.

And they’re away.

***

“I’m sorry, Leia. I shouldn’t have gone.” Sitting across from the general at her desk, Rey can’t meet Leia’s eyes. “I knew my bond with Kylo Ren would jeopardize the mission. It was only a matter of time. I… I’d like to request permission to cease my intelligence-gathering duties and remain on base to continue my training.”

“Permission denied.”

Rey looks up, shocked. “But—I almost got us all _killed._ ”

“But you didn’t.”

“They could have found the safe house! And all of the information we were passing! Allies, locations, everything!”

“But they didn’t.”

Rey throws her hands up in the air. “But next time they _could!_ General, why won’t you let me—”

“You are too valuable of an asset to keep off the field,” Leia cuts her off sharply. “You can sense danger when others can’t. And Force knows you’re a whirlwind in combat. We _need_ you, Rey, Force bond or not.” Her tone softens a little. “You don’t need to run away from this. You need to be prepared to face it. To fight Kylo Ren. Which means you’ll need this”

Leia opens a drawer and pulls out the pieces of Luke’s lightsaber, setting them on the desk.

“It’s time, Rey.”

Rey blanches and squirms back in her seat, shaking her head. Leia must have gotten the saber from her quarters. “No. I… I’m not ready.”

“No one ever is.” Leia’s mouth twists in a sad half-smile.

“But—I don’t understand this power. And I almost—” She swallows, her voice dropping nearly to a whisper. “I almost took his hand. I almost fell to the dark side.”

“But you didn’t,” Leia says. “Temptation is only a real threat to be overcome when it is truly enticing—when it’s something we truly want. And you overcame it.” Her smile softens in understanding. “Rey. I’m not saying you’ll never be tempted again. I’m not saying you’ll never feel that pull, or make mistakes. Wrestling with the dark is not a one-time event.” She clasps Rey’s hand in hers. “But we can’t let that keep us from taking action, or having hope. I have faith in you, Rey. Have a little faith in yourself.”

Leia holds out the broken saber once more. Rey looks at it, then back at Leia—and takes it. Leia’s smile is broad and fierce.

“Make it your own.”

***

Rey sits at a workroom table, considering Luke’s lightsaber in front of her. Having no other examples to follow, she notes its construction: the materials, the arrangement of wires and switches, its size and shape.

Rey knows from studying the old Jedi texts that, were she a Padawan in the old Jedi Order, she would be given time to search the galaxy for the perfect materials and make a weapon exactly suited to its master. Given her circumstances, however, taking a year to look for a new kyber crystal isn’t exactly an option. But she’s a scavenger; she knows how to make do. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take much tinkering before she realizes Luke’s blue crystal has taken too much damage to be repaired. She rolls the crystal in her palm, brow furrowed, frowning at the crack that has shorn it nearly in half.

Right down the middle.

She blinks. Her heart pounds in her chest as an idea takes shape, and then—

She tears out of the workroom in search of Rose.

***

“I don’t know, Rey. I’m a mechanic, not an engineer.” Rose pokes at the crystal, frowning the same way Rey was just a few minutes ago.

“But is it possible?” Rey begs.

“I guess, in theory,” Rose concedes, voice cautious. “But I’ve never worked with kyber crystals before. There’s no guarantee it’ll behave the way I think it will, and this is the only one we’ve got. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Rey nods firmly. “Yes. I have a good feeling about this.” She nudges Rose with her shoulder. “Especially if you’re the one drawing up the blueprints.”

“The flattery is appreciated, but it still doesn’t make me a lightsaber expert.” Rose chews her lip as she examines the pieces of Luke’s lightsaber, then says, “Alright. If you’re sure about this. We’ll do it together.”

***

With Rose’s help, Rey’s lightsaber is complete more quickly than she would have thought possible. And it’s exactly what she’d hoped for.

When she shows Leia the double-bladed saber staff, made from the hilt of her quarterstaff and Luke’s blue crystal, the general beams with pride.

When she demonstrates how the hilt twists apart to form two single-bladed sabers, one in each hand, she can feel Leia’s surprise and delight rolling through the Force, and she knows she has done right.

This is the perfect weapon for her: balanced, versatile, familiar. Deadly. She has always been strong and capable. Now, she is a force to be reckoned with.

***

She stays at the training grounds long after everyone else has left for the day, running modified exercises with her saber to smooth her transitions from staff to two blades and back again.

She has just finished her final set, breath coming in short gasps, muscles aching, when she feels his presence nearby, watching her. She stands up, steadfastly refusing to look at him.

Well. She’s got enough left in her for one more round.

Her saber blazes to life as she whirls through the forms. The staff flashes up, back, ahead of her, and when she twists one blade into each hand, she feels a familiar wave of pleased surprise from the presence observing her.

She halts with one blade at either side of his neck.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even twitch toward his own saber to defend himself, though he must know she could cut him down where he stands.

“Very nice,” he says.

And at those two words, she wants to weep—at the first thing he’s said to her in months—at the ugliness of his voice through the helmet’s modulator—at the curiosity and genuine interest she hears seeping through—at the inquisitive mind she associates with Ben—at the certainty that he is lost to her.

Her face is still. Her hands are steady.

She switches off her sabers and lowers them to her sides. She keeps her eyes on the red-splintered mask. He tilts his head, thoughtful, but says nothing more.

When he finally fades, she slumps to the ground, head in her hands, and cries.

Because even now, in spite of everything, she still wants him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! TROS has #problems so I'm trying to fix them for my own sanity lol. I originally wanted to write nothing but post-movie domestic bliss... but there were so many things about this movie I wanted to fix that I couldn't leave it alone and so here I am writing the most ambitious fic I've ever attempted. Because Star Wars gives me FEELINGS hahahahaha ;_; anyway I'm a very slow writer so it might take a while to finish this, but I promise I will update as quickly as I can. We'll see if it actually remains at 6 chapters....... But I hope y'all stick around for the final chapter because that's where the originally intended domestic bliss comes in and hooooooo boy I am READY. If anything motivates me to keep writing this fic, it will be that sweet sweet boy waiting for us at the end. <3
> 
> Some of these ideas, including the one for Rey's double-bladed saber staff that splits in two, are inspired by [Jenny Nicholson's video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GErIPKjwuDg) about TROS and Ben's redemption arc.
> 
> Fic title from ["Ain't That Fine" by I'm With Her.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIz3l2Nndcg)


	2. Chapter 2

The Supreme Leader does not dream.

Nightmares have plagued him his entire life. Fire and rage and monsters chase him until he awakes, sweat-soaked, and summons his saber to his hands to defend himself. His parents could do nothing; Luke never understood, claiming the dreams were a symptom of his unbalanced soul. Snoke changed all that. “I need my apprentice focused and fearless,” he snarled, and he gave Kylo Ren the recipe for a draught to ensure dreamless sleep. He has been taking it nightly for years, and the nightmares ceased long ago.

Until tonight.

He realizes too late, in the way of dreamers who know they are dreaming but can’t bridge the gap between sleep and wakefulness, that he left the drink on his bedside table, untouched. He is haunted by screams from within a flaming temple—wild eyes and a sickly green glow above his bed—his father, begging him to come home—a monster in a mask—

And then the nightmare fades, and he is in her arms. He smells ferns, ocean spray, clean linen—tastes her lips on his—runs his fingers through her hair and over the soft skin of her neck, her back—hears her whisper, _Ben—_

And he opens his eyes, alone.

The baseboards in his room glow faintly with white light; circuits and air vents hum in the background. It’s the middle of the ship’s artificial night cycle. He’s tempted to get up now—keeping a star destroyer running is a twenty-four hour operation, and plenty of people will be awake—but just the thought of dealing with Hux is frankly exhausting.

He glances at the drink next to his bed, rubs his eyes with his palms, remembers the feel of her in his hands, and his chest aches.

He downs the draught and sinks back into a dreamless sleep.

***

The _Millennium Falcon_ jumps to hyperspace and Rey slumps back in the pilot’s seat in relief. Another successful mission, this time with only a little trouble from local gangsters and not a whiff of First Order interference. “We’ll be back on Ajan Kloss in about three hours,” she announces over the intercom. “Make yourselves comfortable.” She and Poe make their way back to the lounge, where she collapses on the ratty couch while he reclines on the tiny bunk. Finn and Rose soon join them from the gunner station.

“Nice flying.” Finn bumps fists with Rey as he sits next to her.

“Thanks,” she smiles. “Have I ever done anything else?”

“What, no compliments for the co-pilot?” complains Poe from behind them.

Rose pipes up from the technical station, where she is transferring their newest intel to the _Falcon’s_ backup system. “Everyone knows if you were in charge of this rust bucket, you would have wrecked it ages ago.”

Poe shrugs. “Not my fault if this hunk of junk can’t handle basic combat maneuvers.”

“This ‘hunk of junk’ just saved your sorry behind, Dameron,” Rey jumps in, “and not for the first time, either.”

“I remember a time when you yourself referred to this ship as, and I quote, ‘garbage,’” Finn reminds her.

“Yes, well, we’re all young and naive at some point, aren’t we?” Rey pats the back of the couch and looks around at the room fondly. “You’ll keep us racing around the galaxy for ages yet, won’t you, girl?”

“Limping, maybe,” Finn says, then—“Ow!” as Rey slugs him on the shoulder.

“We should come up with a team name,” Poe says suddenly. “Kaydel keeps telling me she’s sick of referring to us as ‘Poe, Rose, Finn, and Rey.’”

“Kaydel?” Rey asks.

“Lieutenant Connix,” Rose explains, plopping down next to her and waggling her eyebrows. “She’s got a _thing_ for him.”

“I’m thinking ‘Dameron’s Destroyers,’” Poe says, framing the imaginary title in the air with his hands and pointedly ignoring them. “Or maybe ‘The First Order’s Worst Nightmare.’”

“I’m pretty sure that’s longer,” Rey points out.

“He thinks if he doesn’t acknowledge us, we’ll drop the Kaydel thing,” Rose stage whispers to Rey behind a raised hand.

“He doesn’t want to admit he thinks she’s cute,” Finn whisper-shouts to them both. “The other day I caught him checking his hair in the window before he went into the control room. He must have been there at least five minutes.”

“Sounds like he’s got it bad,” Rey agrees, nodding solemnly.

“Or maybe I’m just vain,” Poe drawls.

“We already knew that,” Finn quips back.

_Rey._

The presence is back.

The banter around her seems to fade as Rey’s mind becomes attuned to the voice. Rose and Finn make another joke at Poe’s expense—she thinks—she can’t really hear them. Her senses dull; all she can hear is _Rey, Rey, Rey._

This is the fourth time it’s reached out to her. She is more cautious now; she has not touched it since that first time, too nervous about alerting Kylo Ren to her location. There’s no discernible pattern to it—each time, it is stronger than the last, but she doesn’t seem to be getting physically closer to it and can never tell when it will speak. Where it is, who it is, or what it wants, she still does not know.

She shakes her head a little, trying to clear her mind. The voice grows louder, insistent. _Find me, Rey. I can help you._

_With what?_ she practically begs. For a long moment, she feels no response.

Finally it whispers, _The secrets of the Jedi,_ and she nearly jumps. It’s never answered this question before.

_Why should I trust you?_ she challenges it.

There is another long pause before—

_I can break your bond._

Her heart stops.

_Where can I find you?_ she pleads, but at this, the voice is silent. The warmth of its presence fades, replaced by the silence of three people watching her.

“Was it him?” Rose asks quietly. They’ve grown used to her sudden stillness whenever she connects to Kylo Ren.

“No. It was that voice. Again.” Rey rests her elbows on the table and rubs her temples. She’s starting to get a headache. “It says it can teach me about the Jedi. And… how to break my bond.”

“That’s…” Finn trails off. “I mean. That sounds creepy.”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” Rey says, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “People can speak to each other through the Force, even over long distances.” She knows this all too well. “And the texts say when Jedi die, they become one with the Force, and they can continue to manifest themselves to Force-sensitive people long after they’re dead.”

“Like a ghost?” Poe looks skeptical.

“Something like that,” Rey nods. “Leia says she’s seen a few. But this feels like… something different. Not _bad_ different, just different.”

“You haven’t told Leia, have you?” Poe asks, and Rey shakes her head no. “You should talk to her when we get back. She’ll know what to do.”

“You’re right. I’ll tell her.” Rey’s head is pounding, now. She thinks of the lightness that filled the lounge before, and how quickly it was overtaken by fear and concern, and she feels guilty. She stands. “Sorry, I’m not feeling good. I’m going to go lie down for a while. Wake me when we’re getting close.” As she makes her way out of the room, she tries to ignore the pity radiating from behind her. She doesn’t want it.

***

Kylo can feel Hux’s agitation long before the general enters his chambers, and he groans internally. He does not want to deal with the general right now.

To be fair, he doesn’t _ever_ want to deal with Hux, but this is particularly bad timing. He has a throbbing headache at the moment, the source of which is unknown to him, and after last night’s interrupted sleep, his mind is still… elsewhere.

“General,” Kylo greets Hux tersely as he enters the room. He does not turn around from the viewport.

“Supreme Leader.” He hears the swish of Hux’s cloak as the man gives a stiff bow. “I wish to discuss the allocation of our resources.”

Kylo says nothing. Hux takes this as a sign to continue.

“Our commanders on Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa are requesting reinforcements. They are receiving significant pushback from Hutt forces and do not have the manpower to handle the territory’s criminal underbelly.” Hux pauses, and Kylo can feel the man reaching for his courage before he speaks again. “I suggest one-third of the current forces dedicated to finding the scavenger girl be reallocated to Hutt space.”

Kylo Ren turns around.

“What?” he growls.

“Supreme Leader.” Hux’s face is more pinched than usual. “We are sending an inordinate amount of troops and ships in search of one girl, while our forces on Nar Shaddaa are grossly outnumbered and barely—”

Kylo feels his anger growing, and he lets it, relishing in the power that rushes through his limbs. “That _girl,_ ” he snarls, and Hux jumps a little, “is with the Resistance. Which means if we find her, we find them. What don’t you understand about that, _general?_ ”

A vein pulses in Hux’s jaw. “Sir, we have been searching for her for months now, without success. Surely—”

Kylo pulls his saber from his belt and ignites it. Hux scurries backward, nearly slipping on the polished floor.

“No troops will be reassigned from the hunt for the girl,” Kylo bellows. “Find the reinforcements somewhere else.”

The general trembles in fear. Good. Let the man remember what the Supreme Leader is capable of. Kylo steps back and switches off his saber. “Dismissed.”

“Supreme Leader,” Hux murmurs shakily, bowing again, and flees the room.

(Kylo Ren, absorbed by his own anger, does not feel the subtle shift in Hux’s emotions: the undercurrent of determination that now runs through the general’s mind, as though something has finally been decided.)

When he is alone again, Kylo Ren removes his helmet. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself. As they often do now, his fingers fall to his face, tracing the scar she left there.

He will find her. And he will turn her to the dark. To him. He will take her, by whatever means necessary. He has to.

He has to.

***

Leia leans back in her chair, fingers steepled, frowning. Rey sits across from her, fiddling with a thread on her tunic as she waits. The general is silent for a long minute before Rey can’t take it anymore.

“Well? What do you think?”

True to her word, Rey asked to meet with Leia as soon as they returned to the Resistance base. For the last fifteen minutes, Rey has been recounting every detail of her encounters with the voice; Leia has only interrupted twice to ask clarifying questions, her expression growing more troubled by the minute.

“I think…” Leia trails off, eyes unfocused. She says nothing more for several long moments, then sits up straight and meets Rey’s eyes, as if suddenly certain. “I think this voice is not interested in your well-being. Whatever it is, there is something it wants. Whatever it claims it can teach you will come with a price, one I don’t think you or I are ready to pay. I think you should block it out as much as possible.”

“Oh.” Rey realizes, upon hearing Leia’s answer, that she had been hoping to hear the opposite advice. Her heart sinks. “So you don’t think it’s a Force ghost, like Luke, or Obi-Wan.”

“No. I’ve never heard of Jedi who’ve become one with the Force communicating this way.”

_There are lots of things about the Force that you don’t know,_ Rey thinks but does not say. Instead she says carefully, “But is it possible this person, alive or dead, does have something to teach me? I thought you _wanted_ me to connect with the Jedi of the past.”

“I did. I do. But I have a bad feeling about this. It feels—wrong. You didn’t seek this voice out. It came to you. And the first time it spoke to you, it told Kylo Ren where you were. Why would it do that if it wanted to help you?” Leia shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous. Maybe after the war, when there’s less risk and more time to seek answers. For now, you should continue with your training and missions as assigned.”

Rey’s jaw works. She makes sure her emotions are controlled before she speaks again. “General. You’ve said yourself that you don’t know everything about the Force. And like I told you, it didn’t _feel_ dark.”

Leia’s eyebrows raise. “You really think a dark presence trying to bring you to its side is going to announce itself as such?”

“No, but—” Rey cuts off and looks around the room in irritation. “I know the difference between light and dark. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Leia’s face softens. She reaches across her desk and catches Rey’s hand with her own. “It’s _because_ I don’t know everything about the Force that I think you should be cautious. I don’t want to lose you to a stupid mistake, Rey.” She smiles, all empathy, and Rey’s irritation fades. Leia is doing her best, too. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But please—be patient. With me, and with yourself. We’ll figure this out together.”

***

“Be with me,” Rey murmurs.

Trying to take Leia’s advice, she has retreated to her usual meditation spot. It’s in the middle of the sweltering Ajan Kloss jungle, and though it’s not exactly quiet with all the clicking insects and chattering creatures, at least she’s alone. Finding a private spot within the Resistance base is almost impossible.

And yet try as she might, her mind will not clear. She has never been good at meditation; now, her mind races with questions and doubts and disappointments. With a huff, she collapses spread-eagled on the ground, opening her eyes to stare at the canopy above. Dappled sunlight plays across her face. Sweat trickles down her neck.

_If it’s so important to the Jedi that I carry on their legacy,_ she thinks, petulantly, _why won’t they speak to me?_ She has been here an hour but, like always, no matter how long she waits, she hears nothing.

She imagines Leia reminding her to be patient—these things take time—and she groans, passes a hand over her face, and sits up to try again. She settles into a meditative posture: crossed legs, straight back, hands at her knees, eyes closed. Breathe in, out, in. Mind empty.

One with the Force.

“Be with me,” she whispers. _Please. Help me._

She waits, and waits.

“Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.”

“Who are you talking to?”

She startles at the harshly modified voice but doesn’t open her eyes. She was so focused that she didn’t notice the Force bond pulled taut, didn’t notice his presence until this moment—but now the tension is all she can feel. Her heart races. She resumes her deep breaths, trying to calm herself and ignore him.

“Are you trying to meditate?” The note of amusement in his voice makes her fists clench.

_Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him._

“You’re frustrated,” he observes.

Her eyes snap open. She scowls at him, sitting a few feet in front of her. “How could you tell?” she asks drily.

“I already knew,” he says. “Before I saw you. I felt it.”

_He’s lying,_ she thinks. _He’s nowhere near me. He couldn’t possibly know what I was feeling._

She closes her eyes again, tries to breathe—

And it occurs to her that she knew exactly where he was before looking at him, and wonders if, perhaps, the irritation simmering in the back of her mind all day was coming from somewhere else—someone else—

And it’s no use. If she couldn’t empty her mind before, she certainly can’t do it now that he’s watching her. She groans and hugs her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. There’s no point trying to walk away; he’d follow her.

“I can help you learn to focus your mind.”

“Have you considered that _you’re_ the reason I can’t?” Her voice is muffled through her arms.

She hears a _hiss_ of air, and when he speaks again, his voice is clear, unmarred by the helmet. “My presence shouldn’t matter. Truly clearing your mind means being able to block out all distractions. That’s sort of the point of meditation.”

She jerks her head up to look at him. “I know how meditation works, thanks.” She wishes he would put his mask back on. Constant visions of him are hard enough without being able to see his face: arresting, solemn, the tiniest hint of a teasing smile pulling at his lips. That he can speak to her so casually makes her angry; that she wants to respond in the same tone makes her angrier.

“You know what my mother taught you,” he counters. “But she left her Jedi path decades ago. Long before she could complete her training. You know this. You think _she_ can teach you everything about the Force?”

“She knows enough.”

“Clearly not. Or you wouldn’t be having so much trouble with your meditation.”

“I was doing just fine until you showed up.”

“Undoubtedly you were about to summon Master Yoda himself.”

“What do you want from me?” she bursts out, flinging her arms wide. “Why won’t you leave me alone? Let the bond die and leave me in peace.”

“You think I’m the one keeping our connection intact?”

“You must be. Because I’m doing everything in my power to break it.”

His face hardens. “I assure you. I find this as unpleasant as you do. It’s the Force, not me.”

Her mind races with this new information, trying to understand what it means for her—trying to think of something, anything that will cut him to the quick—but all she can think to say is, “Why?”

He smirks. “Maybe it foresees failure at the end of your path, without me as your teacher.”

Rage wells up inside her. She can’t bear this anymore. She rushes to stand, but before she can leave, he calls out, “Wait—” and grabs her hand.

The moment their fingers meet, her mind is filled with visions: herself in a black robe, bearing a red lightsaber—Kylo Ren on a throne, massive and looming, and she is curled on his lap, his partner and his plaything, his arms around her waist, his lips at her neck—cruel smiles on pale faces—planets enslaved and blown to dust—the galaxy bending to their will.

Her stomach twists with dread. She tugs her hand away. She is shaking. _No. It can’t—I would never—_

But she can see the wonder, the thrill, the slow, vicious smile spreading across his face, and she knows he has seen the same future.

“I knew it,” he says, quiet but triumphant. “You will come to me. It’s only a matter of time.”

Rey’s saber blazes to life, and she aims one blade at his chest. “I can stop it. I can end you right now.”

“Just like Luke?” The barb hits its mark; she takes a half step back, dismayed. He scoffs. “We both know you won’t. He didn’t have it in him, and neither do you. You had your chance.” He stands, and her blade follows him, hovering a finger’s breadth from his chest. “My mother gave up her training to become a _politician_. She thought she could do more good for the galaxy in Parliament than as a knight.” His face shifts from pleased triumph to ugly, sneering vindication. “And now what? Her precious New Republic is in shambles, and she doesn’t know enough about the Force to train the last Jedi.” He steps forward, and she backs away so he doesn’t impale himself on her saber. “So no. You won’t kill me. I’m the only one who knows the secrets of the Jedi. Luke is dead. My mother is a failure.” He leans in closer. “I’m all you’ve got left.”

And he is gone.

***

Kylo Ren stares at the empty space where Rey stood moments ago. He wants to revel in the vision of glory the Force has just shown him, but all he can see is her face: cold, spiteful, angry. Afraid.

Because of him.

Beneath the savage pleasure of assured victory, he feels a sinking guilt in his stomach, and an urge to smooth the lines of fear from her face with murmured apologies and soft kisses.

But she’s gone now, anyway.

He pushes the urge away and reminds himself that, whatever the Force may show him, the future is not set in stone. He believed it, last time, when he saw her turning to the dark and joining him; and where are they now? On opposite sides of the war. No. Better not to get his hopes up.

He’s in his private quarters. If he had been anywhere else on the ship, he would not have spoken to her. His officers already believe he’s insane; no reason to give extra fuel to their rumors. He returns to his computer terminal, where he was working before he felt the Force pull tight and connect him to Rey. The mountains of troop movements, intelligence reports, and supply requests requiring his signature are his least enjoyable task as Supreme Leader, but they must be tackled now or Hux might have a stroke—not that that’s an unpleasant notion.

He settles in at his desk and makes it through a handful of reports when—

_You remain as foolhardy and short-sighted as ever, my young apprentice._

Kylo shoots out of his chair as his lightsaber flashes to life. He turns in a quick circle, blade held out in a defensive stance as he scans the room. He is alone.

_Did you really think threatening her that way would endear you to her?_ The voice continues speaking casually, as if nothing has changed. _You know very well she responds poorly to intimidation. And you know just as well that I am not anywhere near you. Put the saber down, pathetic child._ The voice is irritated, impatient, and all too familiar.

“It’s not possible,” Kylo whispers, face tight with panic. “I killed you. You’re—”

_Dead?_ The voice finishes. _Too true, my boy. Snoke was arrogant, and you cut him down like the fool he was._ Suddenly the voice changes, and he hears tones deep and rich as molasses, stifled beneath wheezing, machine-like breaths. _Perhaps you’ll like this voice better?_

Kylo’s mouth twists in a bitter smile. “My grandfather has never spoken to me in my life. Why start now?”

_Not as tempting as it used to be, then,_ the voice muses. _Interesting. What about_ —The voice changes again, feminine now, sweet and familiar and dangerously intoxicating— _this one?_ Kylo says nothing. He wants to curse himself; is he such an idiot that the sound of her voice alone makes his breath catch and his heart race? _Ahh, of course,_ the voice lilts, mocking him. _All it takes is a pair of pretty eyes. I should have known. Your grandfather was the same._

“Get out of my head,” Kylo growls.

_Don’t you want to hear what I have to offer you?_

“No.” He returns the saber hilt to his belt and sits back down at his desk.

_You want her,_ the voice whispers anyway. _With my help, you can take her._

“And you want nothing, I suppose, for this generosity?”

_Nothing you are unwilling to give._

“Forgive me for not jumping at your offer,” Kylo says caustically, though his mind races with wondering how this presence could possibly help him. “The last time I listened to the voice in my head, I became his dog.”

_Perhaps,_ muses the voice. _But you also gained power beyond what you ever imagined. I can make you stronger even than that. Through her._

Power. And her. The two things he wants most in the galaxy. He cannot have both.

Unless.

_You need her, my boy,_ the voice purrs. _She is your other half in the Force. When she joins you, you will be unstoppable. I have foreseen it. So has she. And so have you._

Unbidden, images flash across his mind: a dark throne—Rey at his side, his queen, his lover—the galaxy crushed beneath their feet.

The voice says nothing for a long time, though he knows it is still there, waiting.

“I destroyed my last master,” Kylo says eventually, “when I was through with him. I can destroy you too.”

Again the voice changes, and it chuckles, ancient and crackling and cold. It sends a shiver down his spine.

_I would expect nothing less._

***

Rey sits up in her bunk, punches her pillow into a more comfortable shape, and slides back under the covers. Barely a minute later, she turns over to her other side and checks the clock. Only half an hour has passed since she looked last.

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. She is dead tired, but sleep will not come. All she can see whenever she closes her eyes is herself, turned at last to the dark. After talking to Kylo Ren, she spent the entire afternoon running her lightsaber drills, hoping to find some peace in the fluid repetitions. But though her muscles ache, her mind cannot let go of the images she saw when he touched her. Nor can she escape the revelation that they can now sense each other’s emotions even from who-knows-how-many lightyears away—which means their bond is growing stronger.

For most of the day, she has been surrounded by friends and allies who could distract her, temporarily. But now she is alone, and for hours, her mind has raced through feverish _what ifs._

What if the bond continues to grow? What if he can sense where she is, next? Control her feelings? Her actions?

What if what she saw in the Force vision comes true?

What if this bond is her undoing?

She can’t afford to wait around and find out.

Her whirring mind lands on a memory from weeks earlier: Leia, handing her Luke’s old lightsaber, trusting her judgment, and saying—

_We can’t let fear keep us from taking action, or having hope._

She must take action.

She throws off her blanket, slips her feet into her boots, and grabs her saber. Within minutes, she has made her way to the shuttle bay and arranged to borrow an x-wing “on classified Jedi training business” (a trick which she knows will only work this once). As the fighter’s hatch closes above her, she casts a longing glance in the direction of the _Falcon_ across the bay, but her beloved freighter requires a copilot, and she doesn’t know what dangers she may face on this trip.

No, better she go alone.

She takes off, and the x-wing’s powerful engines quickly push her through the atmosphere and into orbit. She closes her eyes against the void of space and— _reaches_ —

And there it is. The warmth, the feeling of ancient wisdom waiting for her, the assurance that someone out there in the galaxy knows her and can help her.

_Rey,_ it greets her, and it feels like stepping into a ring of firelight. _Are you ready, now, to come to me?_

_Yes,_ she says, simply.

All at once, her mind is flooded with visions of a path—a way—a planet, reddish and timeworn—and though she doesn’t know the name of her destination, she knows exactly how to get there.

She opens her eyes, punches the coordinates into her navigation system, and makes the jump to hyperspace.

***

Halfway across the galaxy, Kylo Ren sits on the edge of his bed and watches the stars pass by outside his viewport.

He looks at the sleeping draught, winking deep red on his bedside table.

He remembers the taste of her, in his dreams. The feel of her hand in his, not a day ago. The sight of her, resplendent in dark robes, waiting for him in his future.

_You can take her._

He leaves the drink next to his bed and descends into dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

The x-wing touches down in a rust-colored valley, hemmed in by steep cliffs and colossal crumbling pillars that may once have been statues, eons ago. This planet is not on the charts. Although the air is breathable and the climate appears—if not hospitable—at least tolerable, Rey’s orbital scans of the surface indicate no life forms. It’s little more than a barren hunk of rock hurtling through space. Still, she is cautious as she exits the cockpit.

The moment her feet hit the ground, a shudder wracks her entire body and nearly knocks her off her feet. Despite her lifeless surroundings, the planet feels _alive_ with the Force. It pulses through her muscles and makes her fingertips quiver.

Rey takes quick stock of the valley. On either side she sees several caved-in entrances to massive caverns, each flanked by two hulking pillars. She’s almost tempted to clamber up the slopes and start tearing at rubble to see what’s inside—she’s an explorer and a scavenger, at heart—but the pull she feels toward the valley’s mouth is stronger. She makes her way up the winding path, between ever narrowing canyon walls, until she comes to another cavern. This one is smaller, unassuming and unmarked, but clearly millennia newer than the others and not blocked up with boulders. A frigid breeze whispers out of the tunnel, and as it dances across her skin, she hears, _Rey._

She ignites her saber and steps inside.

The blue light bounces off tunnel walls, lighting her way for what feels like an age. Unlike the smugglers’ tunnels on Kijimi, winding and rough-hewn, this cavern delves straight into the cliffside, never deviating, the stone walls carved smooth. She walks, and walks, and walks, and all the while she can feel the presence getting closer, the Force growing stronger.

When the tunnel finally opens up into a larger cavern, she has lost all sense of time. She must be miles underground by now. The tunnel ends here; she sees no other exits. The room is occupied only by a rectangular chunk of rock, cut in the same smooth, plain fashion as the cavern walls, and which she knows, instinctively, is a coffin.

So this is a tomb.

“Welcome, my child.”

Rey whips around, saber out in front of her, but she is alone. When she swings back, a figure stands before the coffin. He is older, perhaps in his fifties, with a cloud of white hair despite his receding hairline. His robes are thick, weighty, and, though not ornate, clearly expensive.

Most noticeably, he is translucent.

He smiles broadly and spreads his arms in a gesture of welcome.

“Rey.”

The warmth of his greeting is instantly familiar. This is the voice that led her here. Rey lowers her saberstaff but does not extinguish it. It’s her only source of light—and though she’s come all this way on hope, she’s not such a fool to put away her weapon now.

“Long have I waited. And here you are, at last.”

“Who are you?” Her tone demands answers and betrays no fear.

His arms fall to his sides; his smile remains. “I have gone by many names. I fear even I have lost track of them all. But you may call me Sheev.”

“What is this place?” She motions to the walls, the ground, the planet beneath their feet.

“To those who once called it home, it was known as Korriban. To me, it is a place of rest.”

Rey jerks her head toward the coffin. “This is your tomb.” He bows his head in acknowledgement. “Are you a Force ghost, then?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He paces around to the other side of the coffin as he speaks, trailing his shadowy fingers along its smooth top. “You have never seen a Force ghost, I believe? If you had, you would know I am… somewhat different.” He pauses, as if trying to find the words. “Let us simply say I do not have the same abilities as a typical ghost. You see, I cannot manifest anywhere in the galaxy at will. I am confined to this place; hence, I had to summon you here.” He presses both hands flat against the coffin and leans forward. “But neither am I under the same restrictions as other ghosts. I can help you in ways that others could not.”

Rey takes a step forward, peering at him in the gloom. He is faint, barely visible. “You said you could teach me about the Jedi.”

Sheev nods and resumes his pacing around the coffin, and she wonders, if he is tethered to this cave, how many times he has trodden this same path. “Indeed. It seems, young Rey, that you require a real teacher to show you the ways of the Force, and there are none now living in the galaxy. The Force has allowed me to return to this plane for this purpose. I was once a great teacher of Jedi, you see.”

Rey’s stomach clenches at the suggestion that Leia is not a real teacher, but she lets the comment pass. She glances around the room with narrowed eyes. “And how, exactly, did you end up buried on an abandoned, uncharted planet teeming with Force energy at the edge of the galaxy? If you were such a great teacher.”

“Some of my methods and beliefs about the Force were… unconventional. But effective. Many were later adopted as common practice by Jedi masters.” He shrugs. “Such is the way of things. Genius is rarely recognized as such in its day.”

This is not reassuring. “Why have I never heard of you before, if you were such a great teacher?” Sheev stops and looks at her sidelong.

“You are young, child. The Jedi Order has existed for millennia. You think you can learn all of their wisdom from a woman who never completed her training and a handful of books?”

Rey’s face goes hot. “No.” He nods once, decisively, and begins pacing again. Before she can lose her nerve, she has to ask—“You said you could help me break my Force bond with Kylo Ren.”

Sheev stops again on the other side of the coffin and looks down, almost sheepishly. “Ah. Yes. I can. But not yet.” Rey opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up his hands and continues, “Let me explain. Force bonds are powerful manifestations of both the Force’s will and a connection between two souls, and your bond with Kylo Ren is even more powerful than most.” She feels a strange mix of guilt and foreboding in her gut as he speaks. “There is only one way I know to break such a bond, and it is extreme. Those rare souls whose bonds have been broken felt the effects in their entire being. This is not a choice to be made lightly, my dear.”

“Then why did you tell me you could do it?” Rey’s voice is rough with restrained anger.

“Because I can. But the Force brought us together because you need a teacher, not to break your bond. So, first I will teach you. And if, at the end of my teaching, you still wish to break your bond—if, after everything, you believe it is worth what it might cost you—I will help you do so.”

Rey eyes him warily and remembers what Leia said about the voice:

_Whatever it is, there is something it wants._

“What do you want from me in exchange?” she asks.

He smiles, and it’s affectionate and sincere and kind. “I was wondering when you would ask me that. All I want from you, my dear, is your company.” He gestures around the empty room. “As you can imagine, I have been alone here for a very long time. So, your company—and your pledge that you will be a devoted and hardworking apprentice to me, that we may not waste this opportunity the Force has granted us.”

Rey looks down at the saber in her hands, considering. It cannot be all he wants. It’s too easy. There must be something else. But—the Force did bring her here. And, however much she hates to admit it, she does need a teacher.

She looks up, chin held high, determined.

“I agree to your terms.”

Sheev’s face breaks into a wide, delighted grin.

“Then let us begin.”

***

“This is infinitely better than Kijimi,” Rey sighs, closing her eyes and relishing in the sun’s warmth on her face. “Why couldn’t Jannah get transferred here months ago?”

“Speak for yourself,” Poe grumbles. He tugs at the thick handkerchief tied around his neck. “Some of us like the cold.”

Rey rolls her eyes at him. “Maybe if you’d take that thing off, you’d enjoy yourself more. I told you, you only need to wear it on the speeder to keep sand out of your face.”

“But it looks so good on me!” Poe mock-primps the handkerchief, and Rey laughs.

“Could you two focus, please? We’re not here on vacation.” Rose has one hand pressed to her earpiece, listening to First Order radio chatter, while Finn peers through binoculars at the crowd beyond the rocky outcropping where they’ve paused to take stock of their situation.

A few weeks ago, Jannah’s squadron was reassigned to the desert planet Pasaana, and Rey was so excited to hear this that Finn had to stop her from dumping her parka in the nearest trash compactor. The _Millennium Falcon_ is hidden in a canyon several miles away; they crossed the dunes on speeders. Jannah arranged to meet them today, the first day of the massive Aki-Aki Festival of the Ancestors, hoping the huge crowds and colorful surroundings would provide the perfect cover. They might not be here on vacation, officially, but to Rey, even more than the others know, it’s a relief to escape into such a festive scene. She has been back to train with Sheev several times since their first meeting (each time coming up with more ridiculous excuses to get away from base), and while his training has certainly proven effective, it’s not exactly relaxing.

Unfortunately, it seems their cover is almost too perfect.

“I can’t see her anywhere,” Finn mutters. “There’s just too much going on.” He lowers the binoculars and looks down at Rose. “You got anything?”

Rose shakes her head. “She’s not answering.”

Finn rubs his forehead anxiously. “Guess we’ll have to go down there and look for her.”

Rey walks back to the speeders and dislodges several large pieces of scrap metal she tied to their sides, then returns to her teammates and passes one to each of them, grinning. Rose flips hers over, examining it.

“What are these for?”

Rey’s grin widens. “Watch.” She props it on the edge of the dune beyond the outcropping, sits on it, and slides down the hill, giggling like a child. The others glance at each other with fond smiles and quickly follow suit—it’s quicker than trudging through the shifting sands, and the joyful atmosphere of colorful kites and pounding drum beats coming from the festival is infectious.

They wander through the crowds and dancers and stalls, keeping an eye out for Jannah’s squadron, but there are hardly any stormtroopers around at all. The festival is enchanting, and despite the urgency of their mission, they all soon find themselves losing focus. Rey stops to buy a pastry, sweet and sticky with honey; she wolfs it down and immediately goes back to buy three more to share with the others (and another for herself). Rose’s nerves calm enough to see her captivated by a tiny fathier figurine carved from a blue-veined stone. When she moves on, Finn quietly purchases it from the vendor and slips it into his pocket. They lose track of Poe for a moment but find him a few stalls back, admiring a flashy speeder being readied for this afternoon’s podrace.

Rey drifts away from the others, watching a circle of Aki-Akis whirling gleefully through a dance. She tries to imagine anything like this taking place on Jakku, but she can’t picture it. There, it was every sentient for themselves. Compassion and attachment were for the weak; empathy just got you killed. Those who couldn’t hack it alone shriveled in the desert heat. But where Jakku was soulless, Pasaana thrives. It can’t be any easier, here, to coax a living out of the dunes and rocks. And yet the beings who call this place home seem not just happy but— _connected_. Rey remembers the smugglers and scavengers of her childhood home trying to fill its void with spice and drink and gambling, but here, there is no void to fill. No, the only thing these planets have in common is the sand.

Someone taps her arm, and she turns to see a small Aki-Aki child holding out a handmade necklace. Rey kneels in the sand and bows her head, smiling gratefully as the child loops the twine around her neck.

“Thank you,” she says, suspecting the child does not speak Basic but hoping she understands the sentiment. The girl giggles and tugs her into the dance. Rey spins and laughs and jumps and tries to keep up with the unfamiliar steps, and thinks that if she had been abandoned on Pasaana, she might never have left.

The bond pulls tight.

A massive figure in black robes and a mask stands in the center of the circle, watching her. Unaware of his presence, the dancers pass through him like a shadow. Rey freezes, face falling—and backs away from the dance, pushing her way through the crowd. Finn, Rose, and Poe are nowhere to be seen.

“You’re hard to find,” he says, conversationally. He falls in beside her.

“You’re hard to get rid of,” she mutters under her breath.

She has to find her team. She tries reaching out through the Force, feeling for their signatures, now almost as familiar to her as her own—but there are so many _people_ , and so much going on, and the bond is overwhelming almost everything else, and she can’t focus.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks, and she’s irritated that he can feel exactly what she’s doing through the Force. She reels her emotions back to her body—but not quickly enough. He answers his own question. “Ahh… the traitor.” His voice turns sour, almost sullen, and she senses—jealousy? “Is he still with you, then?”

“What’s it to you?” she snarls; a passerby looks at her with alarm and veers around her. This is no good. The only thing she’ll accomplish wandering like this is frightening the locals. Her eye catches on a small dune near the edge of the crowd—higher ground. Maybe she’ll be able to spot them from there. She starts shoving her way in that direction.

“I’m just anxious to see you,” he says, mocking— _bitter?_ she thinks. “Haven’t you heard? I’ve been looking all over the galaxy for you.”

She doesn’t respond; she has reached the dune and begun climbing, focused on the feel of slipping sand beneath her feet. When she reaches the top, she scans the hordes of sentients below for any sign of her friends.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you earlier. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Shut up,” she growls. All she can see are tents, kites, and heads covered by hats and scarves. He starts to circle behind her, and she turns to face him, not wanting to risk leaving herself undefended.

“Don’t you have anything more to say? I was hoping we could catch up. I’d love to know what you’ve been up to.”

She glares. “I’m not interested in a chat.”

“Pity.” He stops and cocks his head. “I guess this will have to do.”

He lunges; his hand grasps her necklace and she hears a _snap_ as he pulls it away and jumps back out of her reach before she can strike him. He rubs the beads between his fingers, examining it.

“So that’s where you are.”

Her hands go cold.

“You can’t possibly find me from that,” she scoffs, trying to stop her fingers shaking.

“No,” he admits. “But you seem to be around quite a lot of people, and you were dancing, before. You’re at a festival. Your feet were sinking as you climbed—sand. And—” he clutches the necklace in his fist— “I was given one of these once, too.” He pauses, and she knows that beneath the mask he wears a wolfish grin. “Luke took me to the Festival of the Ancestors when I was ten.”

Her stomach drops. _No._

He steps closer to her, leisurely. Arrogant.

“You can’t hide. Not from me.”

She punches him in the gut.

He reels backward, clutching at his stomach, and disappears.

She shakes out her fist and bolts back down the hill in search of the others.

Even now, she can feel his rage and _thrill_ rolling through the Force, and an echo of his pain in her stomach, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s here. _He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming._

She plunges into the sea of revelers, reaching out with the Force to feel for Finn—and feels him reaching back, faint, uncertain, untrained, but _there_ —and the realization that he’s Force sensitive enough to seek her out barely registers because they need to _get off this planet_ —and then she crashes into Finn coming around a corner, Poe and Rose right behind him—

Finn grasps her shoulders, frantic, but she cuts him off before he can speak:

“He found me.”

Poe swears and pulls them into a space between tents.

“I knew you were in trouble,” Finn says, a little dazed. “I felt it. I think—”

“Yes, you’re Force sensitive,” Rey finishes quickly. “We’ll discuss this later. Did you find Jannah?”

“She’s patrolling the north end of the festival,” Rose says, blaster in hand, eyes tracking the passing crowd. “But there aren’t that many troops stationed here. The First Order knows we’re here, and they know we were on Kijimi before. It’s not long before they make the connection and figure out who we were meeting.”

“We have to get her squadron off planet.” Poe glances at Rey. “How long do we have?”

“No idea. Maybe ten minutes, maybe fifty.”

“Then we’d better get a move on.”

***

Blaster fire narrowly misses Rey’s head as she zips across the dunes, back toward the _Falcon_. She weaves back and forth with the speeder just enough to make herself a harder target but not so much that her passengers can’t hold on—she hopes.

“Sorry again,” she calls over her shoulder. “This is all my fault.”

“No problem,” Jannah shouts back over the sound of the engine. “At least this is the last time you can blow my cover.” She fires off two bolts in quick succession, and Rey hears a yelp and the thud of a body hitting the sand.

They’re surrounded by a half dozen other speeders all careening toward the canyon: the two double-seaters they brought with them, piloted by Finn and Poe, and several other larger speeders they commandeered from the festival. Rose flies one of these; Rey, another, with Jannah and two other defectors on the back; the other speeders are manned by the rest of her crew. Following close behind are—well, Rey’s not sure exactly how many, as it’s not a brilliant idea for her to turn and look just now, but _a lot_ of still-very-much-loyal stormtroopers. When Rose said there weren’t many troops stationed on Pasaana, she meant “not many by First Order standards,” which, unfortunately, is still too many to be comfortably taken on by a pilot, a mechanic, a Force sensitive soldier, a Jedi-in-training, and a dozen rebel stormtroopers.

Rey’s quick reflexes and pilot’s intuition serve her well out here; she dodges around a massive rock outcropping at the last possible second, but the speeder tailing her is too slow and the resounding _boom_ of a crash echoes across the sands. They’re almost to safety—the red cliffs housing the canyon where the _Falcon_ waits are coming up fast—if they can just get to the ship, they can board and get lines within a few minutes—they’re going to make it—

And then, above the sounds of blaster fire and whirring engines, she hears the whine of an incoming TIE fighter.

She doesn’t need the bond or the sensation of greed that washes through the Force to know who the pilot is.

But it’s a split second too late.

The fighter screams down from above, blocking the canyon entrance and firing indiscriminately at the approaching speeders as it flashes through them and out into the desert. He takes out two of his own—and one of theirs goes up in flames, and Jannah cries out in dismay—and—

“Poe!” Rose screams as Poe’s speeder takes a hit. He tumbles to the ground and rolls before the sand drags him to a halt.

Rey’s choice is made before she can think. “I’ll get Poe,” she yells into the comms. “Keep going—just get to the _Falcon_ and then come back for us.” She hands the controls to Jannah, whose face is streaked with tears but set with determination.

Then Rey leaps from the speeder.

She lands at a run and takes off in Poe’s direction. Within moments, the speeders have disappeared into the canyon; the sounds of battle disappear under the desert wind, but the faint shriek of the TIE fighter’s engine in the distance grows louder as its pilot swings back around. His frenzied energy quakes through her limbs as he targets her. She knew he would—she split from the group not just to save Poe, but to draw the Supreme Leader’s attention away from her friends.

Rey slides onto her knees at Poe’s side. He’s still breathing, thank the Force, but unconscious. The ground beneath his head is dark with blood. She doesn’t have a medpac on her, and by the time the others get to them, it might be too late.

Now’s as good a time as any to test her new powers, she supposes.

She lays a hand on his forehead, takes deep, calming breaths to slow her heartbeat, tries to block out the sound of the incoming fighter and the ragged emotions of its pilot, and taps into the Force.

_Relax. Breathe. Feel the Force flowing through you. Feel the ebb and flow of your own life force, and that of the one you wish to heal. And then, let go._

Time seems to slow as Sheev’s advice from her last lesson floods her mind. She feels the Force surround her, penetrate her; she understands, in a way she doesn’t when her mind is occupied with more mundane things, that all things have their equal, their balance; she knows, deep in her soul, how to share that life force and rebalance the scales; she breathes in, breathes out, lets go—

And feels the smallest twinge of loss in her center as Poe’s heartbeat strengthens and steadies. She knows, without looking, that his head injury is gone. He will live.

Rey lets out a shaky breath and stands.

The TIE fighter is approaching fast.

Back to more temporal things.

She takes two dozen paces away from where Poe lies prone and reaches for a different kind of calm. Healing requires peace; dueling requires assurance.

Rey eyes the fighter, kicking up dust in its wake, and assesses her situation. He won’t shoot her—he wants her alive—but she needs to get him out of that ship.

She feels a grin split her face as she gets an idea.

She ignites her saber, twists one half into each hand, and sprints directly at the oncoming ship.

When it’s nearly upon her, so close she can almost see him through the cockpit window, she hurls her sabers at each of the struts holding the wings to the body—flings herself onto the ground and slides, feet-first, through the sand as the fighter passes overhead—uses the Force to draw her sabers through the wing struts and sever them from the ship—and pulls the sabers back to her hands as the wings crash to the ground and the cockpit goes spiraling across the desert.

Well. That worked out nicely.

As she stands, she feels Finn reaching out to her, clumsy but firm: _We’re on our way. Hold on._ She races back to where Poe lies, awake now, groaning and clutching at his leg. She may have stopped him from bleeding out, but he’s definitely got several broken bones. Rey hauls him to his feet, his arm around her shoulders for support, and looks out to see a figure climbing from the smoking wreckage. Her heart, already slamming in her rib cage with adrenaline, somehow manages to speed up at the thought of a fight. She glances at Poe, unable to stand on his own.

“Please hurry, Finn,” she whispers.

The figure begins stumbling across the desert in her direction. Rage—admiration— _desire_ flows through the bond. A streak of shivering red appears as he ignites his lightsaber.

And then she hears a welcome, familiar screeching as the _Millennium Falcon_ appears above the cliffs and cuts down toward her for a landing. Rose rushes down the entry ramp as it lowers to help Rey haul Poe aboard; the ship lifts off almost the moment their feet touch the ramp. Rey rushes to the cockpit to take over from Finn when she feels a massive pulse of energy in the Force and—

The ship shudders to a halt in midair.

Rey is thrown against the controls. Finn slams into the back of the pilot’s seat. “What’s happening?” he yells.

Rey knows exactly what—who—is holding the _Falcon_ in place. She frantically flips switches and checks readouts—alarms blare through the ship as the power holding it back tests the limits of its construction—but it’s no use—this old hunk of junk may be fast, but he’s stronger—

Stronger than her?

Rey closes her eyes and reaches out along the bond. She has never done this before; she wants nothing to do with the blasted thing and has always let the Force do as it pleases with their connection. But now she tests it, pulling it along in her hands like a thread, winding it around her fingers, letting the tension build in her chest until she can feel his mind swirling before her like a tangible thing, able to be prodded and guided and swayed.

 _Ben,_ she whispers.

She feels him _jolt_ in shock, and for half a second he releases the ship, and it’s enough—

The _Millennium Falcon_ blasts forward, out of his reach.

***

Rey sits curled in the pilot’s seat and watches solar systems race past in blurs of light. She tries to let her mind relax and block out the throbbing fury on the other end of the Force bond, internally repeating the first line of the Jedi code over and over again like a prayer.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_Peace. Peace. Peace._

When she hears Finn enter the cockpit and silently take the copilot’s chair, she doesn’t turn, but she asks, “Will he be alright?” She knows the answer but needs to hear it from someone else’s mouth.

Finn lets out a heavy breath and nods. “Yeah. He’s sleeping now. His leg is broken, and he’s got some minor burns and a few cracked ribs, but nothing a day in a bacta tank won’t fix.” She can feel him looking at her. Considering her. “I thought we’d lost him. But he’s going to be fine. Thanks to you.”

She looks at him, now, and he searches her face, admiring and questioning and a little concerned. He doesn’t have to speak the question aloud.

“I found the voice,” she admits. His expression seems to relax and tense at the same time, as if he both expected and feared this answer. “There’s an ancient Force ghost, on this planet in the Outer Rim. He’s been teaching me. Things Leia can’t. She’s strong with the Force, but she doesn’t know everything.”

“Like healing?” She nods. “And he’ll help you—break your bond?”

Rey looks down at her hands. “Maybe. He says it’s dangerous.”

“I was wondering where you’ve been disappearing to.” Her head shoots up, dismayed, but he’s grinning. “What, did you think you were being sneaky?”

Rey groans and covers her face with her hands. “Has Leia noticed?”

“I don’t think so, but she’s sharp. It’s only a matter of time.”

She looks at him through her fingers. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No.” His smile fades, slightly. “If you can promise me three things. One: you won’t do anything stupid. Or at least no more stupid than you’ve been already, looking for the voice on your own. Two: you let me, Rose, and Poe cover for you whenever you need to leave. And three—” he hesitates— “you agree to start training me to be a Jedi.”

Her mouth quirks up. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s a deal.”

Finn looks like he might explode with enthusiasm. “Really?”

Rey laughs. “Really. I would have agreed to teach you _without_ the blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” he sputters. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—” He trails off at her teasing smirk.

“If we’re going to rebuild the Jedi Order, we’ll need more than one Jedi to fill it.” Her smirk softens to something more sincere. “You’ll have the honor of being my first apprentice.”

Finn’s chest heaves; she can feel the elation radiating from him like a star, and her heart feels full.

“I’m going to tell Rose,” he says. He stands and lightly grips her shoulder; she reaches up with her own hand to cover his. “Get some rest.” He gives her a small smile, and then the warmth of his hand is gone as he retreats to the _Falcon_ ’s lounge _._

She is alone, again.

Her smile fades. She knows herself, and after a day like this, sleep will not come soon. Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply and lets her mind refocus on the Jedi code.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

She lets go of her fear, lets her guilt and anger and doubt fade. Peace takes their place.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

Regret for deceiving Leia nudges her, but she pushes it away and reminds herself that without Sheev’s teaching, Poe would be dead.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

She tries to let her body become still, her mind tranquil, her soul free of desire—but suddenly she sees dark eyes, and strong hands, and full lips—and she feels an ache of wanting in her throat and can’t push it away—

And the Force pulls taut, and she knows, without looking, that she is no longer alone in the room.

“Rey.”

She opens her eyes on instinct at the sound of her name. He sits in the copilot’s chair, where Finn was not ten minutes ago. His mask is off; he watches her, intently.

“Your Force signature has changed,” he says.

She blinks. “What?” She’s thrown by the suddenness of his comment. His temper has faded; she feels only curiosity and… disappointment, from him.

“You feel… different.” He cocks his head. “Stronger. But also—” He cuts off, as if he can’t find the right word.

She regards him warily. He was wounded in the crash, despite his helmet. She feels an urge to reach out—brush her fingers across the bruise blossoming on one cheek, the cut on his lip—make the injuries fade with her touch.

She could heal him.

She balls her hands into fists.

“Some of us change for the better.”

A sudden pang of _shame_ ripples through the Force, and then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter got WAY LONGER than originally intended lol. But I'm happy with how it turned out! I'm adding at least one chapter to the chapter count... but I wouldn't be surprised if it continues to grow.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

The voice is furious with him.

“Stupid boy,” it spits. “Have I not told you to be more cautious with the girl? She seeks connection and companionship. Anger will get you nowhere with her.”

Kylo Ren stands before a computer station on the star destroyer’s command deck, as far from his commanding officers as he can get without leaving the room. His jaw works. “My anger makes me strong,” he says under his breath.

“Your anger makes you _reckless,_ ” the voice hisses. “Powerful, yes, but thoughtless. The Jedi were wrong about many things, but they understood the value of patience. Control your anger, boy, or it will control you.”

He stares at the maps and technical readouts on the screens in front of him, not really seeing them. He swallows. “What would you have me do? She wants nothing to do with me.”

The voice chuckles coldly. “Oh, my boy. She wants you _desperately._ Of that there is no doubt.” Kylo clenches the edge of the desk in front of him with both fists. The voice almost seems to prowl around him now as it whispers, “I have seen her heart. I know her deepest desires. Shall I tell you what she dreams about at night? Shall I tell you who she sees? Who she imagines in her arms—in her bed—”

“Stop,” he says, his voice ragged. “Stop, just—tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

The voice is silent a moment before speaking again, as if judging his intent. “She already wants you. Show her that you understand her, and those whom she calls friends do not. In other words—” He can almost hear the voice smirking at him— “Charm her, little prince.”

The presence fades. In its place, he can sense Hux, now, standing behind him. Waiting.

Kylo swears internally. How long has the general been there?

“What is it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. _Betray no emotion. No anger, no fear. No weakness. Control._

“Supreme Leader.” Hux bows, staring just a little to the left of where Kylo stands, avoiding his gaze. Two high-ranking officers flank him on either side, faces pale. “We require your presence to discuss our strategy for the unrest in the core worlds.”

Kylo grinds his teeth for a moment, then turns and walks away.

“Sir—” Hux protests, but he’s immediately silenced as Kylo stops in his tracks, body rigid and threatening.

“Do whatever you think best, _general,_ ” he sneers through his mask. “I don’t care about the details. Just take care of it.” He begins walking away again. “I’ll be on the training deck. I’m not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir.”

(When his pounding footsteps have disappeared, Hux exchanges a look with his fellow officers. “He _is_ crazy,” one of them mutters, as if afraid even now he will be heard. The Supreme Leader terrifies them into absolute submission. But Hux has been whispering with them for months now, and after what they have just witnessed—the most recent in a long history of alarming behaviors—they know they must act soon.)

***

When Rey told Leia about Finn’s Force sensitivity, the general was ecstatic, and only a little surprised. When Rey requested that Leia become his primary teacher, she was more hesitant.

“You’ve gotten much stronger in the past months,” Leia told her. “You’re more than capable of teaching him yourself.”

“Thank you.” Rey tried not to let her heart rate flare—Leia would surely notice—as she lied. “I think my meditation has come a long way, and that’s helped a lot.” She smiled, genuine now. “But you’re still the master here. You are strong with the Force, Leia. Finn has a lot to learn from you. And so do I.”

So Leia agreed to train Finn in the ways of the Force. But she insisted that Rey undertake his lightsaber training. “As you said, he should learn from a master,” Leia told her with a wink.

Now, wooden training weapons in hand, Rey and Finn circle each other, looking for an opening. They have taken over a section of the training grounds to work on Finn’s dueling skills; with only one lightsaber at their disposal (even one that can be turned into two), it’s more practical to work with less deadly weapons.

Finn slashes out in a wide arc—Rey blocks him easily, then uses the other end of her staff to knock his feet out from under him. He lands on his back with an _oof_ , and before he can move, her staff is at his throat.

“I win. Again.”

He’s panting too hard to speak, but his glare says enough. Grinning, Rey removes her staff and extends a hand; he grips it and hauls himself up.

“How are you—so fast?” Finn manages. “It’s like—you know where I’ll be—before I do.”

“You’re relying too much on physical strength and not enough on the Force,” she says. “You need to reach out with your feelings as you fight. Don’t watch me— _feel_ where I’m going to go next. A Jedi gains the advantage by letting the Force flow through her.”

Suddenly her chest feels tense, and she sees a figure out of the corner of her eye that was not there a moment ago. _Not now._

Finn must notice her face fall and her body stiffen, or maybe he feels her emotions shut off. “Is he here?” he asks quietly. She nods once, tersely, trying not to look. “We can finish this later, then.”

Rey shakes herself. “No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” She gives him a cocky smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re not getting out of training that easily.”

Finn sighs, resigned, then steps back a few paces as Rey assumes a defensive stance.

“Remember,” she calls, “Use the Force. Let it flow through you.”

He takes a moment to center himself, hefts his training sword, and charges. He manages to hold his own a little longer this time, and she can feel his mind reaching out, probing, testing—but it’s not long before he’s on the ground again.

“Better,” she says, tapping her staff against his chest. “But apparently we also need to improve your footwork. The moment I get you on your back, you’re finished.” She shifts her eyes, slightly, to the edge of the training grounds. The figure is still there. “Come on. Let’s run it again.”

Finn screws his eyes shut, gathering his resolve, then pushes himself up and resets. Over and over they run this drill; over and over again, although he is improving, Rey defeats him; and all the while, she can feel someone else’s eyes on her. Watching. Any minute now, she tells herself, he will disappear. Any minute now, she won’t be able to feel his gaze on her back. But after the dozenth time she knocks Finn down, he is still there. She keeps her gaze carefully focused on her pupil, who’s panting with exertion, arms flopped out to his sides.

“Had enough yet?” Rey asks, cheeky.

Finn groans and holds his hands up in a time-out sign. “Plenty. I’m not sure I have any skin left for you to bruise.”

She shrugs, resting her staff across her shoulders with her hands on either end. “You’re the one who asked me to train you. Or would you rather be meditating with Leia?” She senses her observer stiffen—merely at the sound of his mother’s name, she wonders, or at the fact that she has taken on another apprentice?

Finn sits up, flinching a little. “She may be strict, but at least I’ll walk away from her in one piece.”

Rey’s mouth quirks in a half smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” She helps haul him up one last time, and as he brushes the dust from his pants, she says, “You’re improving. Truly. You almost had me a few times.” She hears a snort from the figure behind her, and her jaw clenches. “Tomorrow we’ll run exercises with the combat remote and blast visor, so you can work on feeling through the Force instead of using your eyes.”

Finn notices her annoyance flashing through the Force and, thankfully, recognizes it’s not at him. His eyes flick around the training grounds. “Is he still here?” She nods. “Where?” She jerks her chin in Kylo’s direction, behind her; Finn’s eyes lock on the spot. “And you’re sure he can’t hear me?”

“Yes…” she says, apprehensively. “Why?”

She doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Her jaw drops as Finn begins shouting at Kylo Ren—the filthiest, most obscene thing she has ever heard come out of his mouth. She can’t help it; she bursts out laughing with surprised delight. The absolute confusion she feels through the Force bond makes her bend double, trying to catch her breath. (She also feels the strange sense of pleasure he has at her laugh, and tries to ignore it.)

Finally, Finn stops, grins, and stretches his arms above his head. “Ahh, that felt good. I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

“Do you kiss Rose with that mouth?” Rey giggles.

“Ha! If you think I’m bad, you should hear her when she’s trying to get an R2 unit to cooperate.” He checks his watch. “Speaking of Rose, I’m supposed to meet her in the dining hall for dinner soon. Are you coming?” She reads the second, unspoken question in his face: _Are you okay?_

“I’m alright,” she says gratefully. “I have some things to finish up here. I’ll eat later. But thank you for offering.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” he says—reluctant, she thinks, to leave her here alone, but knowing he won’t persuade her to join him—and makes his way out of the training grounds.

Rey digs deep into her core to center herself, then turns to face Kylo Ren.

“Why are you still here?” she asks.

He shrugs. Now that she’s looking directly at him, she notices he’s not wearing his mask, nor his usual thick robes; instead, he’s dressed in light training gear, bare arms folded across his chest. She feels her face heat as she realizes her eyes are lingering; she tears her gaze away and settles into the first stance of a training exercise with her staff.

Before she can start, he calls out, skeptically, “‘You almost had me a few times?’” Rey grimaces but says nothing, sweeping her staff low into the next position. “He never came close. I was only watching you, and even I could see that.”

She moves through her poses slowly; this set is meant to improve her balance and fluidity, not agility or power. “He is improving. I was trying to be encouraging.”

His eyes follow her as she bends and stretches and balances. “You’re not doing him any favors by going easy on him.”

“And I should take training advice from you because…?”

“Of the two of us, I’m the only one to have been trained by a Jedi master.”

“Yes, and we both know how well that ended.” She shifts her foot forward in a slow lunge, and when she meets his gaze she sees a flicker of displeasure there, but he calms himself surprisingly quickly.

“You just seem bored,” he says. “You’re strong with the Force. You’re better than him—you’re better than _everyone_ , wherever you are. There’s no one for you to really test your skills with.” His lips twitch up. “Well. There’s one.”

Her tone is caustic as she responds, “You?” She sweeps her staff out in front of her. “I think you’re the one who’s bored. Don’t you have enough blaster fodder on that star destroyer to keep you busy?”

Again, his mouth twitches toward a smile. “Would you believe me if I said no stormtrooper is interested in sparring with the Supreme Leader?”

“I would, actually.” Her staff twirls effortlessly in her hands. “And yet you think I am.”

“I think,” he says, shifting to his left but keeping his eyes on her, “you are itching for a real challenge. I think you’re looking for a chance to test yourself. And—” He reaches for something she can’t see, and suddenly a training sword similar to Finn’s appears in his hand— “I think the Force bond is keeping us connected for this long to give you that chance.”

Rey’s arms drop to her sides in a resting position, watching him. And it hits her that he’s serious. She can read it in his face, feel it through their bond. He wants this. And no matter how much she enjoys spending time with Finn—no matter how pleased she is that her best friend in the galaxy is becoming a Jedi alongside her—she beat him soundly, repeatedly, even with Kylo watching, and... she has to admit to herself that she maybe is a little bit bored.

What’s the worst that could happen?

(Death. Death is the worst that could happen.)

She hesitates.

Then she drops into a defensive stance.

His feet slide apart and his body lowers as he plants himself in the starting form she has begun to recognize.

And they begin.

Instantly, they become a whirl of movement and sound, muscle and wood: two people strong with the Force who move so quickly and confidently, it’s almost impossible to track their movements with the naked eye. The _crack_ of their weapons rings across the training grounds as they meet again and again. She forgets, sometimes, how strong he is, but as his sword meets her staff, he nearly pushes her backwards; she has to mentally readjust to meet the power behind his strikes and not fall.

She backs up a few paces, panting, putting space between them so she can catch her breath. He was right. _This_ is a real challenge—one she has been aching for. A chance to prove herself. They circle each other, slowly, seeking an opening. There—a slight falter in his step. She smirks and throws herself across the gap.

They have not dueled each other like this, one-on-one, since her escape from Starkiller Base—and, oh, how things have changed. Then, she was only starting to taste her powers; now, she knows exactly what she is capable of. She settles into the flow of the Force, letting it guide her as she blocks and strikes and dodges. He may be powerful, but she’s fast. She slips under his strikes, around and behind him, and he almost can’t keep up. Almost.

Using training weapons instead of lightsabers lends itself to a different kind of fighting: more physical, closer, less concerned that any hit could be their last. Rey whacks him on the back of the head; he jabs her ribs with his sword. She senses his every move, through the bond, and she knows he feels hers too, and they move so smoothly from step to step, attack to counterattack to shove and pull and sweep and feint, that it’s almost like they’re one being. They pass so close she can feel his breath on her neck—his fingers brush lightly over her thigh—her mouth comes dangerously near his chest—

(If someone were watching, now, they might think this looks more like a dance than a duel.)

Their blades meet, sliding together as they try to knock each other off balance—she drops low and wallops her staff against his legs as his sword swipes the air above her head—he trips backwards but manages to stay standing.

Suddenly his hand grips the other end of the staff and he _pulls_ , and for a moment she thinks he’s going to take it from her like he took the necklace, but it’s just enough to set her off balance and then he lets go. She stumbles forward, then transforms her momentum into a lunge, tossing the staff aside and tackling him forcefully onto the ground. The sword slips from his hand as he lands, disappearing on his end of the connection.

And all that frenzied movement abruptly _stops,_ leaving only silence, and the muted sounds of two exhausted people who are suddenly too close. She pins him, straddling his chest and gripping his wrists above his head. Their breath comes in short gasps. She can feel his heart beating like it’s her own, rapid and eager. Her hair falls like a curtain over his face as she bends in close.

“Had enough yet?” It’s the same thing she said to Finn, before, but now it feels—dangerous.

“Never.” His voice is hoarse.

(Distantly, so faint she’s not sure if she imagines it, she hears Ben’s voice tug on the bond: _I will never have enough of you._ )

But he doesn’t move. His gaze dips to her mouth, and she sees on his face and feels in his mind a _hunger,_ and an answering roar in her chest rises up to meet it.

She releases him and stands, quickly backing out of his reach. He sits up as she collects her staff and turns away from him, heading for the equipment racks at the edge of the arena.

“You wanted to take my hand,” he calls after her. “In the throne room. Why didn’t you?”

She stops. She feels the answer in the back of her throat, raw and frightening and bitter, and she knows it will overpower her if she lets it—so she covers it with a forced sarcasm in her voice and says instead, “And miss out on you chasing me across the galaxy?”

He’s silent for a moment before saying, softly, “I would have followed you to the end of the universe, if you had asked.”

It’s like he’s dumped ice water over her head. Any yearning she might have felt is smothered. “I did ask,” she says, letting a cold, muted fury into her voice. “And you failed me.”

She feels the connection cut off, and when she turns back to look, he is gone.

Returning her staff to the rack, she looks at her hands and feels—dirty. She leaves in the direction of the barracks. No dinner tonight. She’s not hungry anymore. All she wants is a shower.

All she wants is to feel clean of him.

***

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

Rey breathes deep and lets peace envelop her.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

She empties her mind, concentrating on the flow of the Force around her as she mentally recites the Jedi code.

_There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

Time fades; her body seems to vanish; she is only a presence; there is only the Force.

Another presence, quiet and solid and familiar, pokes at her mind experimentally, seeking an opening, a flaw.

She does not let it in.

It leaves her alone for a time. She does not know how long; time is meaningless to her. Again it tries to worm its way in, and again it is repulsed. She cannot fail; she is at peace, one in spirit with the Force, and the Force allows no such intrusions.

At last she hears, as if from a far distance, “Very good, my young apprentice.”

Rey opens her eyes, returning to herself. She floats, cross-legged, several feet above the ground; the peace fades slightly as she removes herself from the flow of the Force, but it is still there, slowing her pulse and relaxing her limbs. Slowly, she lowers herself, and as her feet alight upon the cave floor, Sheev appears in front of her.

“Very good,” he purrs again, with a look of satisfaction on his face. “Your mental defenses were already strong, but now they are impenetrable. I could not access your mind under any circumstances. The next time you face an opponent strong in the Force, you will be well protected against assaults on your mind.”

Rey bows, her belly warm with gratification. “Thank you, master.”

“Now,” Sheev says, suddenly brisk, “I have something new I wish to teach you. You have internalized the Jedi code; it is time you learned another. Listen carefully.” He begins pacing his now-familiar track around the coffin, his fingers slipping along its surface. He would have carved a smooth path into the ground, by now, if he were alive.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” he begins. “Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power.” Rey’s stomach suddenly writhes; her peace drains away. “Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken.” He stops moving, eyes unfocused. “The Force shall free me.”

The cave is silent. Sheev stares into the middle distance, as if seeing something Rey cannot. She can feel her heart in her throat.

“But—” she stutters. He starts a little, as if remembering where he is, and looks at her, almost… amused. “But—that’s—the exact opposite of the Jedi code. It sounds like—like—” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“The Sith?” he finishes for her. “Indeed. That would be because it is the Sith code.” His mouth twists in a sardonic smile. “The wisdom of a thousand generations, now passed on to you. I wish for you to memorize and internalize it, just as you have done with the Jedi code. You will learn to use its tenets, and it will make you stronger.”

Rey is speechless. She stares at him, trying to think of something, anything to say. Finally she croaks, “I thought the Sith were evil. Why should I learn their wisdom when it completely contradicts everything the Jedi—everything _you_ have taught me?”

“The line between light and dark is not so easily defined.” He tilts his head a little. “I told you, when we first met, that my methods were unconventional.”

Rey feels like she might vomit. She has made a horrible mistake. She stumbles to the cave wall, leaning against it, trying to control her breathing before she panics.

And then Sheev is next to her, all concern and grandfatherly attention. “You are unwell,” he says. “Sit, my girl, sit.” She slides to the ground and hugs her knees to her chest. He sits next to her, sighing.

“My dear child,” he says. “Please, let me explain.” He waits for her to nod her assent before he continues. “The Jedi Order is gone, and has been for decades. And do you know the cause of their downfall? Their code. Their blasted, rigid code. Peace and serenity are all well and good, but the Jedi of the Republic era learned to completely shut off their emotions. It made them blind in the Force, unable to sense the Sith working under their very noses.” He hesitates. “They forbid attachment of any kind, you know. No parents or siblings, no marriage, no children. Only the Order and the Force. And a life without love—without passion—is no life at all.”

He stops, and she considers him. He seems… sincere. But she remembers another lesson she taught him all too well.

“I thought the reason Anakin Skywalker fell to the dark side was because he couldn’t control his passions. His anger created Darth Vader.”

Sheev dips his head in acknowledgement. “True, true. But if the Jedi had not taught him that passion was evil—if they had not taught him to shut away his strongest feelings instead of how to use them to his advantage—they could have helped him. They could have prevented his fall. And instead…” He trails off, then shrugs. “But—love also brought him back to the light. Love for his son.” He smiles at her, fondly. “So you see, my dear, passion and emotion can indeed be powerful temptations, as the Jedi feared. But they can also be useful tools. Completely shutting oneself off from passion is only a path to ruin.”

He waits as she thinks this through. Her mind whirs.

She remembers Kylo Ren, furious and betrayed and insensible, overcome with his own passions and unable to see what was right in front of him. She pictures Anakin Skywalker collapsing under the weight of his own grief, and she thinks of a younger Luke, pulling his father back from the brink with nothing but a desperate plea for mercy. She sees the Luke she knew, so afraid of his own anger that he banished himself to Ahch-To, away from all the people who loved him most—secluded, cold, and alone. She imagines a life without the ones she loves: Finn, Rose, Poe, Leia, Chewbacca, BB-8. (Ben—no, not Ben.) She sees herself standing in a desert, watching twin suns dip below the horizon, with only the wind and the sand for company.

Her throat aches. Her mind sets.

She knows what it is like to be friendless, unloved, loving no one in return.

She will not go back.

“Alright,” she breathes out. “Teach me to use my passions.”

Sheev looks as pleased as she has ever seen him. “I will teach you to be _strong._ ”

***

Rey’s stomach churns at the smells of too many people packed into too little space. The scents of rotting refuse, starship fumes, brightly colored smokes, and Force knows what else clog the air of Nar Shaddaa, and she feels claustrophobia setting in from the masses of sentients and towering skyscrapers. Even the stale recycled oxygen of a long flight on the _Falcon_ is better than this.

But if the stench is bad, the cruelty and desperation surrounding her are infinitely worse. Nar Shaddaa is solidly in Hutt gangster territory; the entire moon is covered in a massive city, ninety-nine percent of which appears to be dedicated to criminal activity. She has passed more beggars and spice dens and absolutely-not-stolen-junk traders than she can count, and they barely landed an hour ago. All of these assaults on her senses are combining to give her a headache and put her in a thoroughly bad mood.

They wouldn’t be on this corrupt, decaying moon in the middle of Hutt space for no reason. Nar Shaddaa is a haven for the lost and the desperate, along with the crime syndicates—which means the slave trade thrives here. It’s not uncommon for the friendless, hopeless people who wind up in this city to simply disappear.

Making it the perfect place for the First Order to steal—or buy—children to brainwash as stormtroopers.

After all, people go missing every day here. Who would notice a few more?

The Resistance has noticed.

Rey and Finn have posted themselves at one corner of a large plaza, near a merchant who, earlier, tried to push a battered protocol droid on them—until Rey bared her teeth and Finn flashed his blaster, at which point he left them for (he hopes) less dangerous customers. Poe and Rose wait near the entrance to a seedy cantina across the plaza. All four of them have their hoods up, peering cautiously through the smog, but on this planet they’d stand out more if they weren’t trying to conceal their faces.

“Is that them?” Rey murmurs into her earpiece, nodding subtly toward two men standing in front of an unmarked door nearby. They wear no uniforms, no insignias, but their jackets bulge with not-so-carefully-concealed weapons. Guards. Passersby veer around them instinctively; they may not know what these men are guarding, but on Nar Shaddaa, no one wants to find out.

“Yep,” comes Poe’s answer through the comms. “First Order goons, no mistake.”

“And we’re sure the kids are in there?” Rey faces the wall and pretends to examine a wanted poster with great interest.

“Definitely,” Rose replies. “I’ve got their frequency. Sounds like they’re moving them off planet in an hour.”

Beside her, Finn grinds his teeth. Rey grips his hand in hers and tries to exhale peace into the Force, though she feels little herself. She knows what it’s like to be sold, abandoned, forgotten, but at least she wasn’t pressed into a war. Not like Finn.

Not like these children will be in the next hour, if they don’t do something.

Under other circumstances, they might have tried to infiltrate the operation and take it down from the inside—pose as junk traders desperate enough for credits to sell a child or even take up work as traffickers, then find out how far the First Order’s hand reaches on Nar Shaddaa—but they found out about this group too late. If they don’t act now, these children will be lost. Rey glances at Finn and sees his face set with grim determination. The best they can hope for is that no one will notice the kids have disappeared for a while, and by then they will be long gone. At worst…

Well. She would rather not think about it.

“Any other ways in or out?” Poe asks.

“None in my scans,” says Rose. “That door is it. No more guards inside either.”

Rey’s eyes meet Finn’s. “Let’s do it,” he says, resolved.

Casually, not drawing attention to themselves, the two of them make their way across the plaza toward the guards. Rose and Poe stay near the cantina to keep watch. Rey can feel the guards’ eyes tracking them as they approach. She and Finn stop several feet in front of the door; one of the men glowers and sticks a hand in his jacket, the universal sign for _I have a blaster and I’m not afraid to use it._

“Move along, friends,” he growls.

Rey coolly lifts her right hand and waves her fingers. “You will let us pass,” she whispers.

Both men’s body language immediately relaxes; the one drops his hand from his jacket and the other shakes his head a little. “We will let you pass,” they repeat dully.

“You want to get some rest,” she suggests. “You’ve had a long day.”

“We need some rest,” the first agrees, and the other holds up a hand to stifle a yawn.

“You will enter the passcode to let us in, and then you’ll go home and go to bed,” Rey says. Immediately, the second guard taps a code into the keypad and the door swishes open; without a second glance, both guards walk away and disappear around the corner.

The moment they’re out of sight, Finn is through the door, with Rey right behind him. They find themselves in a small antechamber, another locked door in front of them. Rey swears; she shouldn’t have sent the guards away. But Finn is already leveling his blaster at the controls, and in the next moment the keypad is smoking and the door is open—they’ll just have to hope they haven’t set off any alarms. In the next room, cramped and dark, they find about thirty small children, all under the age of ten, huddled against the wall and eyeing the two of them with suspicion and fright. Finn kneels, smiling encouragingly, and says, “It’s alright. We’re here to help.”

Rey ducks back into the antechamber. “Bring the transport,” she directs into the comms. “We’ve got around thirty.”

“It’ll take a few trips,” Poe’s voice warns in her ear.

“So get started.”

Within minutes, Poe and Rose are at the door with a cargo transport; they haul empty crates into the room, and all four of them help soothe the nervous children as they stow them in the boxes and return them to the back of the transport. Only a third of them can fit at a time, and it’s slow-going through the bustling crowds of Nar Shaddaa. While Rose and Poe make their way to the spaceport where the _Falcon_ and another light freighter await, Finn and Rey stay with the remaining children.

Rey’s anger bubbles at the sight of them, dirty and bruised and so, so small. When her fingers grasp their little arms and hands as she lifts them into the crates, she sees flashes of white helmets in the night, feels their terror and confusion and pain as if it were her own, and her fury threatens to boil over. Finn is still learning to control his emotions, and now more than ever his own mind radiates agony; she nearly weeps as she senses his suffering.

Sheev’s voice enters her head repeatedly: _Passion makes you strong. Emotion makes you strong. Hatred makes you strong._ But what these children need right now is a calm presence to assure them that everything will be okay. Her outrage will only make them feel worse. She forces herself to project stillness, no matter how much she wants to tear this whole wretched planet to pieces.

Finally, they get the last group of children onto the transport. But just as Finn carries the last crate through the door—

“Hey!”

Another guard, in plain clothes like the others but unmistakably First Order, stands frozen at the corner, pointing at them. For one breath, the world comes to a standstill.

Then the man reaches for the communicator at his belt, and everything whips back into motion.

In a blur, Rey’s saber is out and flashing through his shoulder; his arm falls to the ground—

And his howl of pain echoes through the towering walls of Nar Shaddaa.

In a moment of panic—frustration—instinct—Rey stretches out her arm and her feelings, grabs hold of his mind, and— _twists_ —

The guard crumples to the floor, unconscious.

Her stomach clenches as she remembers when this same thing was done to her, once—but she has no time for guilt, and anyway at least he’s not dead, and she needs to _move._

Half a dozen more guards round the corner and immediately reach for their blasters. People passing nearby scream and duck out of the way.

“Go!” Rey yells back at the others. “I’ll hold them off.” They don’t hesitate as they clamber onto the transport and lurch into the crowd.

Blaster fire rains down on her from the guards; she grits her teeth and deflects it with her saber. But there are too many people—the transport can barely move, no matter how much Poe lays on the horn—they’ve made almost no progress in the crush—Rey struggles to deflect the blaster bolts away from the crowd—the guards are closing in—if she misses a bolt—if she hits a civilian—if they fire on the crates—on the _children_ —

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

_Through passion, I gain strength._

_Through strength, I gain power._

Hatred and rage flood her senses—she stretches out a hand, stretches out her feelings—grabs hold of the minds of the men rushing her—doesn’t suggest, doesn’t imply— _forces_ them to know absolute horror—curls her fingers and grimaces as she sweeps them up in images of the things that terrify them most—until all they know is _she is their worst nightmare_ —

All six men collapse, screaming and writhing, and she lets them go.

Rey stumbles back a step as the power rushes out of her veins, then turns and sprints to catch up with the transport. She leaps onto the back. Fury and adrenaline make her temples throb, and all she can think is, _Too slow, too slow._ Again she reaches out, using the Force and the strength her anger lends her to part the crowd, mentally grabbing and shoving and doing everything she can to get them out of the way. Poe steps on the accelerator, and soon enough people are moving on their own as the transport weaves through the narrow streets.

They make it to the spaceport in what seems like both a flash and an eternity. It takes only minutes to load the remaining children onto the freighters; Rose and Rey take off in the _Falcon_ with half the group while Poe and Finn take the rest in the other freighter.

The next hours are filled with calming and comforting children; getting the _Falcon_ to an awaiting Resistance starship, where the children will be given medical care and shelter; filling out reports for Leia and the other generals.

Slowly, slowly, Rey’s anger ebbs. Her mind is too occupied with other things to fixate on her own mental state. But as she returns to the _Falcon_ with Rose and sets the coordinates for Ajan Kloss, she feels cold, and—doubt.

What in the world possessed her to do that to those men? It was horrific. Barbaric. Something a Sith would do. Something—she swallows—something Kylo Ren would do. And she did it.

But—no. It’s like Sheev said. The lines between light and dark are not so easily defined. What other option did she have? None. She was backed into a corner, and if she hadn’t acted so quickly, innocents could have been killed. And besides, the men survived. Wouldn’t the worse option have been to end their lives?

_Passion makes you strong._

Yes. She did the right thing.

But _Force_ , she is so tired. They’ve got nearly twelve hours before they get back to base. Rey stands from the pilot’s seat and rubs her eyes. “Wake me if anything happens,” she says, and Rose nods as her friend retreats from the cockpit.

***

That night, she dreams of Ben.

He’s dressed in brown and blue, and he looks… lighter. As if all the weight he’s been carrying has been lifted from his shoulders. Hand in hand, they walk a forest path, bright and green with living things. They talk. He points out birds and tells her their names; she tugs him through clear, bubbling streams, splashing him and laughing and reveling in the cool water on her feet.

...And that’s it. Nothing happens, in particular. They just walk, together.

She is happy.

And then it changes.

Her eyelids feel heavy, her limbs sluggish. She is in the bunk in the captain’s quarters on the _Falcon_ —but she must still be dreaming, because Ben is still here. He lies next to her, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep. His fingertips brush hers on the bunk. She watches his chest rise and fall. She thinks, drowsily, how much she wants to bridge the gap between them and press her lips to his eyelids, cheeks, nose, but he looks so peaceful that she doesn’t want to disturb him, even if this is a dream.

Then his fingers twitch against hers, and his eyes flutter open. His brows furrow the tiniest bit, confused, and he looks so sweet and sleep-muddled, and she feels herself smiling at him—her Ben.

“I dreamed of you,” he murmurs. His voice is rusty with sleep. “Everything was green. And sunny. And you…”

She reaches out and brushes her fingers over his scar; he catches her hand and softly kisses the inside of her wrist. She shivers. His eyes find hers, tentative, and she does not pull her hand away. He kisses her palm, and the tip of each finger. Her skin sparks where he touches her.

He twines their hands together, and his eyes rove her face. She feels like her chest might burst with wanting. He looks softer than he ever does in life, the hard edges smoothed from his face, and she thinks she could watch him like this forever. He releases her hand to cup her neck, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“You asked me what I wanted, once,” he whispers, and she reads the answer in his eyes:

_You, you, you._

And then his lips crash against hers.

He is slow and trembling, and he crushes her to him like he wants to memorize the curve of her mouth and the feel of her skin before she pulls away and is gone forever.

But she doesn’t pull away. She has been starving for him, and she grasps his cheeks and tilts her head to kiss him back.

Hunger quickly overtakes their drowsiness, and their kisses become bold and frantic and greedy. His arms enfold her as he tugs her against his body; she reaches around his back, clenching fistfuls of his shirt, pulling herself closer. He tastes of salt and stars, and she never wants to be anywhere else but in his arms. She runs her hands through his hair; his mouth moves away from hers only to nip at her ear and pull at her neck.

“Ben,” she gasps.

She feels his muscles tense beneath her hands—

And if there was any doubt before, there is none now.

This is not a dream.

But if the name bothers him, it’s not enough for him to stop. His mouth is at her neck, and his hands are in her hair and at her back and on her thighs, and she doesn’t _want_ him to stop—

_There is only passion._

Serenity and peace can burn.

She wants to sink into him, fall with him, plunge into oblivion with him. She has never wanted anything so much.

It’s not a dream, and she does not care.

He draws her mouth back to his. Their legs tangle together—his hips dig into hers and she moans, quietly—she presses her lips to the underside of his jaw and the hollow of his throat—his hands play at the edge of her tunic, fingers slipping under the fabric and up her back and sides and stomach—she pulls away for the tiniest moment to catch her breath and opens her eyes to look at him—

And all she can see is a boy, enraged and lost and afraid, screaming at her to let the past die—cruel and vengeful as he tells her she is nothing, no one—threatening her with pain and loss—cold, traitorous— _murderer_ —

Her voice breaks as she cries out, and the next thing she knows she is tapping into the Force to shove him away, and he’s flying across the room, tumbling to the floor.

She sits up on the bunk, chest heaving with adrenaline.

He stands, clothes and hair bedraggled. His eyes are wild. She feels his emotions rolling through the bond—confusion, anger, shame, fear—but overwhelming everything else, desire, and— _hope_ —

He takes a step forward, eyes searching. Begging.

She swallows.

“Never touch me again,” she whispers.

The hope fades.

Not long after, so does he.

She feels sick. And cold.

She curls up on the bunk, though she knows she will not sleep again. She can’t bear the thought of leaving the captain’s quarters and facing Rose right now. She’ll wait here until they arrive back at base.

The moment they land, she will make arrangements to get to Korriban.

She cannot stand this bond any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... *adds another chapter to the chapter count*
> 
> I got to stay home from work today because of a snowstorm and thus you are given chapter 4. Thank you, insane weather!
> 
> This chapter was kind of a struggle to write so I'm super glad to have it finished. I was going to wait to have them kiss... but then I couldn't resist having the Force shove these two dummies together and yell NOW KISS, so here we are lol. Bless these children.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	5. Chapter 5

When the _Falcon_ lands on Korriban, Rey sits in silence as the ship’s engine powers down and tries to steel herself. She can feel Poe watching her from the copilot’s seat. She’s grateful at this moment that he’s not Force sensitive, because if he were, she couldn’t possibly hide from him the dread that’s almost overpowering her. She can, however, master her expression, and when she finally meets his gaze, she does so with some degree of calm.

“Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone,” she tells him.

“Who, me?” His answering smile is all innocence. “Never. BB-8 and I are just going to see if we can tweak the _Falcon_ ’s heat shields so I don’t feel like I’m going to shake to death when we go into orbit.”

BB-8, perched behind them in the cockpit, beeps and nods eagerly.

Rey purses her lips, trying not to laugh. “As I recall, last time you tried this, you nearly fried the navigation system. I’d rather not have to be rescued and explain to Leia how we got stuck out here on the edge of the galaxy.”

Poe puts his hands up. “That was a freak accident. How were we supposed to know that the navigation computer and the heat shields share a power cell? Because they’re _definitely_ not supposed to.” He leans in closer to her and stage whispers, “And anyway, it was BB-8’s fault last time. I’ll keep a close eye on him so it doesn’t happen again.”

BB-8 whirs backward and beeps in rapid self-defense at Poe, who puts a hand to his heart in mock-indignation. “I’m just telling the truth, buddy! It’s okay, everyone makes mistakes sometimes. R2 would have known better, but hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

As BB-8 continues to squeak and bleep defensively, Poe’s mouth quirks in a teasing smile. Rey chuckles, and on her way out of the cockpit she pats BB-8 fondly on the head. “Don’t let him rile you up too much. We all know you’re the only reason his x-wing is still flying.”

“Hey!” Poe calls after her in protest, and she smirks as she makes her way down the entry ramp, grabbing a lantern on her way out.

As always, when her feet touch the hard-packed red soil, she feels a shudder of power roll through the Force. She pauses and closes her eyes, absorbing the feeling of energy flowing along her limbs. She inhales, lets out a sigh, and sets herself in the direction of the cave.

_Let’s get this over with._

Time seems to stretch as she walks through the valley, and then the canyon, and then the tunnel, her solitary footsteps mimicking the rhythmic, rapid beating of her heart. She has made this walk at least a dozen times, but not since her first visit to Korriban has she felt this intensely nervous—like she both cannot wait for what she’ll find at the end of her path, and will never have enough time to prepare herself.

But, after a blink and an eternity, she does come to the end.

“Tell me how to break the bond,” Rey demands of an empty cave. Her voice echoes around the chamber. The lantern’s light reveals no other presence besides herself. She strides into the center of the room, sets the lantern on top of the coffin, and waits.

Finally Sheev materializes in front of her, beaming. “My dear girl,” he exclaims, arms outstretched, “I knew you would find strength in the Sith teachings. You used your anger to great effect. I _knew_ you had more power in—”

“Tell me how to break the bond,” she repeats, cutting him off. His face falls, eyes darting across her features. Her jaw is set, eyes steely.

“You are not here for another lesson.”

“I’m here to learn how to break the bond,” she says again. “I know you don’t think I’m ready. But I am. Things have—changed. I have to break it.”

“You are certain,” he says, and it’s not a question.

She nods, firm.

“I do not believe you are ready,” he says reluctantly, still examining her. “But… I have taught you most of what I intended. And I can see that nothing I can say will dissuade you.” He pauses, as if fighting with himself. “Very well. I will tell you what I know.”

Sheev sits cross-legged on the cold stone floor and gestures Rey to do likewise; she sits facing him expectantly.

“First,” he begins, speaking slowly, “you must understand what Force bonds are, limited as my knowledge of them may be. Despite a thousand generations of Force users attempting to understand them, such bonds are incredibly rare, and thus they are difficult to study. It is still not truly known how or why a Force bond forms—only that it does. Bonds are most likely to form when two Force-sensitive beings experience a major Force-involved event or trauma together. But there is a certain element of chance—or, rather, the will of the Force. Call it what you will.”

Rey frowns. “Snoke said he was the one who bridged our minds.”

“It is possible,” he muses, “that your bond formed initially because Kylo Ren was with you, touching your mind, when your Force abilities first awakened. Then, sensing the connection, Snoke amplified it in an attempt to benefit himself—though, fool that he was, he almost certainly did not anticipate the full consequences of his actions.”

“Such as his own death,” Rey says drily. “What about the visions I see? When I—touch him.”

“Snoke probably did not know that you would receive that power.” Sheev’s expression flickers in the lantern light. “Every bond is different. It is impossible to tell what two bonded beings will be capable of until their powers are actually used. Some pairs can speak to each other over great distances; many feel their partner’s emotions and pains stronger than those of other beings, even when apart from each other; others share dreams and Force visions when they touch; still others demonstrate unique abilities never seen in other Force-bonded pairs.” Her eyes widen with recognition, and her heart sinks. “You and Kylo Ren can do _all_ of these things, and I suspect more. As I said, it is impossible to know.”

Rey’s mind spins. “What does that mean?”

“If I am correct—and I am rarely wrong—you and Kylo Ren are not just bonded. You are a Force dyad.”

Her stomach fills with dread. “What is that?”

“If the chances of forming a Force bond with another soul are one in a thousand, the chances of becoming part of a dyad are one in a million. It is almost unheard of. It is as if you share a soul: two halves of a whole. One is not complete without the other. Your souls reflect and amplify each other. Your dyadic nature makes you stronger, both as individuals and as a pair. Bonded pairs are stronger than other Force users; dyads are infinitely more so.”

“But why—” Rey digs for the right words, frustrated. “Why me? Why him? How did our b— _this_ turn into a dyad? If they’re so rare.”

He chuckles mildly. “My dear, I don’t even understand how regular Force bonds are formed. I could not dream of explaining to you how dyads come to be. Perhaps your souls or your minds are particularly compatible. Perhaps you were alike enough that you simply… fit well together, or became so along the way.” He notices her disturbed expression and gently adds, “Or perhaps it is simply the will of the Force, and it had a particular purpose for bringing the two of you together, which will be revealed in time. Most likely, we will never know.”

Rey is silent for a long time. Then—

“How do I end it?”

Sheev’s face is grim. He locks eyes with her. “The only way I know to break a Force bond is for one or both partners to be completely, permanently cut off from the Force.”

He has said all along that this was extreme.

She thought she was ready.

She was wrong.

“What… does that mean?”

“If you are not connected to the Force, you cannot be connected to another being through the Force. It is that simple.”

”But the Force penetrates all living things. How could I— _remove_ it? It shouldn’t be possible.”

“There are ways,” he says darkly. His eyes are distant and… knowing. “It is painful. Especially for those of us who are Force sensitive.” He pauses, then asks, “Do you remember what it felt like when your abilities awakened?”

She nods. “It was like… I knew I had always been missing something, but I never knew what it was until that moment. It felt the way I had always hoped it would feel when my parents came back for me.” Her heart hammers with the ghost of a thrill as she remembers. “It felt like being embraced. Like coming home.”

Sheev bows his head. “For me, it was like I had been living in candlelight for my entire life, and I was seeing the sun for the first time.” He clasps his hands together as if to stop them shaking. “Now imagine having that ripped from you. Imagine returning to the darkness, after having known and loved the light—and it having loved you. Imagine knowing, deep in your soul, that the things you have felt and seen and done and been will never again be possible. That part of your being, which you now know is essential to you, and without which you are not whole, is lost to you forever.” His voice has quieted to a whisper. “That is what it feels like to lose one’s connection to the Force.”

Rey blinks and feels wetness on her cheeks. When did she start crying? “And there is no other way?” she asks, because she has to ask, though she knows the answer.

He shakes his head. “I know of no other way to break a bond.”

Neither of them speaks for a long time. Rey studies her hands as she thinks about what he has just told her. What this would mean for her. After so many years alone, blind to everything she was capable of—blind to the Force—blind to _herself_ —can she really go back to the way she was before? Give up everything?

“There is more,” Sheev says eventually. “This would be difficult enough for anyone with a Force bond. But, my girl, I am afraid that it will be even harder for you as part of a dyad. It is entirely possible that, even if your connection to the Force were removed, your dyad would remain in tact. You would simply be unable to feel it anymore; but there is no guarantee even of that.”

“So you’re saying I could remove myself from the Force—go through all that pain and loss—and in the end, it could all be for nothing.” She is angry now. “This is _garbage_ .” She stands and begins to pace, hands rubbing her temples. “Why would the Force— _force_ me into a connection with someone, and only let me break that connection by losing the Force itself?”

Sheev shrugs at her from the floor. “I wish I knew. Perhaps there is another way, and someday you will find it. If you wait long enough. But it seems… unlikely, given the millennia that have already been spent searching.” He pauses. “Well—I suppose there is one other way it could be done now. Though it is more of a… variant. And only nominally less painful.”

Rey stops and looks at him. “Tell me.”

“Kill Kylo Ren.”

The silence is deafening.

She cannot speak.

“As I said,” Sheev murmurs, “only nominally less painful.” It feels like his eyes are boring into her soul. “One or both partners in the bond must be cut off from the Force. His death would accomplish that. You would be free.” She slumps to the ground in front of him, dazed. “Of course, there would still be consequences. You are a dyad; two halves of the same soul. I suspect that if one of you were to die, the other would feel that loss for the rest of their life. As if part of their soul had been ripped away. Even though you will maintain your connection with the Force, you will always feel as if something—some part of _you_ —is missing.”

“And these are my only choices,” she says dully, eyes unfocused. “Lose a part of my soul, or lose my connection to the universe.”

Sheev says nothing.

Rey curls into herself, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the floor. Her mind runs back and forth like a crazed ewok, weighing her options, trying to find some new angle that will help her make a choice, some other way that doesn’t involve so much _loss_ , but she finds herself spiraling, going in circles with no exit in sight.

She startles when Sheev lays a translucent hand on her arm; the sight of it brings her back to herself, mostly. He smiles kindly at her and reaches up as if to wipe tears from her face, and, though this accomplishes little as he has no physical fingers, the gesture is appreciated. “You don’t have to decide today, my girl. You don’t have to decide ever, if you don’t want to. But you did want to know.”

“I did. And now I know.” Roughly, she brushes away unshed tears and stands. “I need to think about this.”

Sheev stands and bows. “Of course. I would expect nothing less.” She collects her lantern and turns to go, but she stops at the mouth of the tunnel when he adds, “Whenever you make your choice, whether it be in days or years, I will be here waiting for you. Come back, when you are ready.” She hears what he does not say:

_I will help you break your connection to the Force._

She nods, and leaves.

Upon returning to the _Falcon_ , Rey’s mood has soured further into a combination of resentment, despair, and bitter disappointment. Poe doesn’t need to be Force sensitive to see the scowl on her face and know something is wrong.

“So… I take it things didn’t go well,” he says tentatively as he settles into the cockpit and begins getting ready for takeoff. BB-8, sensing Poe’s subdued tone, waits quietly behind them.

“They did not,” Rey says, matter-of-fact as she begins flipping switches and checking fuel levels.

Poe glances at BB-8. “You—uh—you still don’t know how to break the bond.”

“No,” Rey lies. Her brow furrows. She won’t look at him. “He can’t help me. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Silence prevails as they finish preparing the ship. The _Falcon_ lifts off with a groan and Rey points its nose to the sky.

“Well,” Poe says airily, trying to lighten the mood, “I can tell you with some confidence our attempts to modify the heat shields were not a success.” He slaps the dashboard. “But! We didn’t break anything. So this delightful rust bucket will feel like as much of a death trap as ever while we break the atmosphere.”

She grins, and it’s biting and savage. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Life goes on.

She tries not to think about it. But she thinks about it anyway.

She spends a lot of time with Leia, training and meditating and listening to stories. She loves hearing Leia talk about the old war, and her life as a double agent, and Luke and Han and their lives after the Empire fell. (Leia leaves a gap in many of her stories, and though they both know who belongs in that gap, they never say his name.) She admires Leia to no end, and all the ways she is strong: in the Force; as a leader; in her convictions and her willingness to act on them, even when it means giving up other kinds of power.

They meditate, and they talk, and something whispers in the back of her mind, _You will lose this._

When she drills Finn on his lightsaber skills, she is constantly aware of how much she has been looking forward to becoming a Jedi alongside him. How much she wants a future where, side by side, they rebuild the Jedi Order. (She pushes away the memory of another person she also wanted by her side, and who said no.) Sensing each other’s moods and movements—her seeking his steadiness and him relying on her strength—quickly becomes second nature to them.

Something whispers, _You will lose this._

She continues her missions with Rose, Finn, and Poe, and she often thinks about how fortunate she is to have them. They could be anywhere—the dining hall, the _Falcon_ , the middle of a firefight—and she will suddenly look around herself at her friends and think, _Lucky, lucky, lucky._ (She ignores the feeling of wrongness in her stomach that tells her someone is missing.) Their missions grow riskier and more frequent, and Rey has a gut feeling that some kind of ending is hurtling toward them. But as long as she’s with her friends—as long as she’s there to protect them—she doesn’t mind the risk.

Something whispers, _You will lose this._

When she lies down at night, the whispers turn into shouts. They circle her mind over and over again like vultures, waiting for her to give up so they can feast. She tosses and turns and begs for sleep, but it never comes.

_You will lose this. You will lose this. You will lose this._

_But you don’t have to._

She sits up in bed.

She cannot lose this. Leia—Finn, Rose, Poe—the Jedi, the Force—her family, her home, her place in the galaxy—none of it.

They need her. They have to rebuild the Jedi. She needs the Force.

Kylo Ren is a menace to the galaxy.

She could free them all.

She could free herself.

_You will lose this._

Her choice is made.

***

Kylo Ren sits at the head of a long table in his war room, the other seats occupied by high-ranking First Order officers. Hux is droning on about something dull and probably important, unaware that the Supreme Leader is not listening. One of the many benefits of the mask. Meetings like this have always been difficult to stomach; recently they have become unbearable.

He blinks, and Rey is there.

She stands across the room, just behind General Pryde at the other end of the table. She stares directly at him—a surprising change, given… recent events. Usually they go out of their way to ignore each other, now. He eyes her, cautiously, though he pretends not to. Another benefit of the mask.

“We need to talk,” she says. Her mouth is set; he senses resolve, through the bond. He feels a knot in his chest.

She can’t possibly have anything to say that he wants to hear.

…Then again, she can’t possibly have anything to say that’s less interesting than this meeting.

He shoves his chair back from the table and stands, and Hux cuts off mid-sentence.

“Out,” Kylo barks. Hux freezes, staring at him. “All of you, get out!”

Immediately the officers jump from their seats and file from the room. The Supreme Leader’s mood has been volcanic lately. They do not need to be told again. He turns away as their bodies pass through her. It’s unsettling; it makes him think of her as a ghost. As… dead.

“What do you want?” he growls as soon as the door is shut, trying to shake the image from his head.

“You,” she says.

His heart stops.

He is silent for a long time. He must be going mad. She’s not really here—she can’t be—she cannot have just said the words that came out of her mouth—it’s the product of a frenzied imagination, a lack of sleep.

“What did you say?” he croaks at last.

“I want you,” she repeats, firmly. She steps forward once, twice. Her body is bisected by the table now, making her look even more ghostly than before. He can’t look; he swallows and turns away again as she approaches.

“You told me—”

“I know what I said. I was wrong.”

He can’t speak. Can’t think. This must be a trap—a trick.

“Had a change of heart, have you?” he snarls. He feels her hurt at his words, and it’s like a blaster bolt to his own chest.

“No,” she says. Her voice is small. “I’m… learning to embrace my feelings.” He feels her hand on his shoulder, and he faces her. She looks real and solid now, her gaze piercing. “What my heart wants hasn’t changed.”

“ _Nothing_ has changed,” he says, backing away. “You’re still with the Resistance. Becoming a Jedi.” He shakes his head. “I know you. You’re loyal to your friends. You wouldn’t just abandon them.”

She takes another step forward. “Maybe I’m not as loyal as you think I am. I’m a scavenger, after all. Maybe I was only in it for myself.” Her expression turns bitter. “The Resistance is weak. It’s only a matter of time until they’re crushed.” Her eyes drift across his mask. “They don’t really know me. And I—don’t want to die. Not when my life is just beginning. And not without…” She trails off, but her face burns with hunger.

Is it possible…?

She reaches for his mask, and he lets her, his own hands trembling at his sides. As she pulls the helmet away, her fingers brush his bare neck—and in that instant he sees her, standing in a downpour, arms to the sky and grinning madly even as her clothes are soaked through—himself, lying next to her in bed, tracing patterns on her back as sunlight streams through the window—the two of them, together in the cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon_ , the galaxy stretching before them, inviting and endless and just waiting.

At last, their eyes meet, and he knows she has seen the same vision.

And even though everything in him is screaming that something is wrong, that he shouldn’t, that he _can’t_ , he seizes her around the waist and pulls her into an embrace. The mask slips from her grasp and disappears on her end of the connection as her arms go around his neck. He breathes her in and prays this is not a dream.

“Run away with me,” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair. “We’ll leave this behind—all of it. The Sith, the Jedi. We’ll let the past die, just like you wanted.”

“We could rule the galaxy,” he mumbles, reveling in the warmth she gives off like the desert sun. “If you join me. We’ll be unstoppable.”

Her lips are at his ear. “I don’t want the galaxy.”

He swallows. “You don’t want me. You want Ben.”

“Ben—Kylo Ren—whatever you want to call yourself. I don’t care anymore. I want _you_.”

And he can’t stand it anymore—he kisses her, fierce and long and lingering and desperate—and, wonder of all wonders, she kisses him back, and he can feel her desire radiating through the bond like a star.

Her mind reaches out to touch the core of him, and he hears in his soul, _Run away with me._

He cups her cheeks and kisses her again and again, and he tells her, _Yes. Yes._

Then the connection breaks, and he’s left holding nothing but air.

For a moment, their minds still intertwine. He closes his eyes, trying to keep her warmth from fading.

 _Meet me on Korriban,_ she says, across the galaxy.

He freezes, and her presence disappears.

He knows Korriban.

Snoke sent him there once, not long after he turned to the dark side. He remembers landing in the rust-colored Valley of the Dark Lords, feeling the rush of Force power emanating from the planet itself, trying and failing to commune with the dark beings entombed there, just as he’d always failed to commune with Jedi spirits.

Most of all, he remembers being disappointed that the even Sith homeworld held nothing for him.

He leans on the table in front of him, lets out a shaky breath, and wonders how much Rey knows about Korriban. Why would she ask him to meet her there, of all places? He has no idea.

But he does know one thing: the voice was right. She came to him, as promised. And if the voice was right about that, then the rest is still possible, too.

She could still turn.

 _He_ could turn her.

If she’s using her emotions to channel the Force and gain power—if she’s no longer denying herself what she wants in the name of balance—if she’s spent time on Korriban, where the dark side of the Force thrives—then she’s halfway to the dark already. All it would take is a little push.

And on Korriban, it will be even easier.

All she wants is to run away, but if he plays his cards right, she will be his queen, just like he saw in their Force vision all those months ago. They will rule the galaxy together. He can have everything he’s ever wanted.

(And, he admits in the back of his mind, even if she doesn’t turn, a life of lazy mornings in bed and quiet contentment doesn’t sound so bad, if it’s with her.)

At last, _at last_ , here is his chance to take her.

He strides out of the war room, and the stormtroopers on guard snap to attention.

“Prepare my ship,” he orders. “And inform General Hux I’ve found the girl.”

(When Hux receives the message, far across the ship on the command deck, he gives his fellow officers a subtle nod. It’s time.)

***

When he disappears, Rey’s knees buckle. She drops to the floor of her darkened, empty room, weak from the effort of hiding her intentions from him, trying not to think about his arms around her and his lips on hers. She picks up the mask and reminds herself that, even when he’s not wearing it, he’s a monster.

“Was that—”

Rey bolts upright and spins around to see Rose standing in the doorway, mouth agape and face filled with horror.

“That was—” Rose stutters, eyes darting to the mask in Rey’s hands. “That—was _Kylo Ren_ —here, and you—you were—” She can’t say the words.

Rey’s face burns with shame, but she holds her head high. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” Rose’s expression moves quickly from shock to fury, and her voice rises. “Because it _looks_ like you were kissing the _Supreme Leader of the First Order_ —”

“It was a trick,” Rey breaks in. Rose presses her lips into a thin line. “A trap. I swear, Rose.” She tosses the mask onto her bed, disgusted—with him, with herself, with everything. “I’m so sick of—of seeing him, everywhere, all the time. Of constantly being afraid that I’ll give us away again, and that next time we won’t be so lucky. I can’t—” Rey looks away, blinking back tears. Her throat bobs. “I can’t take it anymore, Rose. I don’t know what else to do.”

Rose crosses the distance between them and pulls Rey into a hug. For a while they just stand together, and Rey lets herself be comforted by her friend’s solid presence. Her frustration fades, and in its place she finds resolve.

“What are you going to do?” Rose asks at last, quietly.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.” Rey pulls away and looks at the helmet on her bed. Her face is hard. “I’m going to kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies that most of this chapter is an info dump... But our next chapter is ACTION PACKED, folks, so stay tuned. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

She waits in the valley.

Everything is quiet, save for the whistle of a dry breeze that winds through the canyon, over her shoulders where she sits on the valley floor, and out into the distance, kicking up spirals of red dust on its way. She relaxes her shoulders and allows the planet’s power to hum through her muscles. Her pulse thrums in her wrists, her neck, her head, and she tries to absorb a few last moments of peace.

She came alone; her borrowed x-wing waits not far away. Rose seemed to understand there was no point in trying to talk her out of this, so she didn’t bother. Rey can only hope she didn’t tell anyone else—Finn and Poe would try to stop her, and Leia…

Well. Leia will know soon enough.

She senses a buzz of anticipation in the Force, and she knows before the silence is broken by the whirring of a TIE fighter that he’s here.

As his ship lands at the opposite end of the valley, she takes a deep breath, gets to her feet, and hopes that she can make her impatience come across as excitement. She itches for the feel of her saber in her hand, but she flexes her fingers and reminds herself, _Not yet, not yet._

He strides out of the clouds of dust. He is without mask and cape, but he still wears his thick, armor-like black uniform, as if he knows there’s no need to try and impress her with pomp, but he doesn’t quite trust her with his safety.

Which, of course, he shouldn’t.

She waits as he approaches, and it occurs to her that she has not been this close to him in real life since the day he offered her his hand. For the first time, she does not flee upon feeling his presence, and she has to fight everything in herself not to run—whether in his direction or away from him, she’s not sure.

He stops about twenty feet away, eyeing her. The bond purrs with curiosity, eagerness, and caution.

“You came,” she says.

“I came.”

“Alone?”

He lifts his arms and gestures around him. “As you can see.”

They are silent, considering each other.

She removes her saber hilt from her belt and holds it out in front of her with one hand. “I’m going to throw this away from me,” she says. “Do the same, or I won’t come near you.”

He holds out his own saber hilt with an amused smile. “A somewhat meaningless gesture, since we can both summon them back at any time.”

Rey shrugs. “Would you rather I have it on me?” He gives the tiniest shake of his head, and they wordlessly fling their weapons onto the hard-packed dirt some distance away.

Again they are silent, each waiting for the other to make the first move. At last, he takes a step forward, then she does, and the next thing she knows she is in his arms.

“Rey,” he mumbles into her hair, and her knees nearly buckle at the sound of her name spoken with such longing.

Some part of her mind is disgusted that she is so easily softened—a few whispers and longing looks, and she is lost. She can’t let herself fall, can’t let her guard down, can’t give anything away. Stay sharp. Stay focused.

“Let’s go,” she breathes. “Let’s leave, right now. I know somewhere they’ll never find us—quiet—private—”

He pulls her mouth to his and cuts her off, and as he kisses her, warm and fervent and almost worshipful, she feels his mind declaring, _Mine, mine. She’s mine. Let no one take her from me._ He cradles her neck in his hands and his lips slide to her nose, her forehead, the soft spot behind her ear.

“Private,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough, and it makes her skin quiver. “I like the sound of that.”

For one blissful second, with his arms around her waist and his lips at her neck, she allows herself the thought—the hope—that he really will run away with her, and they can spend the rest of their lives in peaceful seclusion on a little moon somewhere, together, with nothing but time on their hands and each other to please.

“Come back with me,” he whispers. “Rule the galaxy with me. Please.”

Her hope shatters.

“We’re a pair, you and I,” he continues softly, hands trailing down her sides. “We belong together. Emperor and empress.”

“I can’t,” she says, then repeats, more for herself than for him as he rubs her hips with his thumbs, “I can’t.”

“You can,” he assures her. He muffles her protests with another kiss, gentle but insistent. “You will. It’s your destiny.” Another kiss. “You wanted a place. You have one. With me.”

And as he kisses her again, she remembers the first time he offered her a place in his story, hand outstretched, insisting that she was nothing, no one to anyone but him.

But even though her insides melt at the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands, she knew better then, and she knows better now. She is a fighter; she is a friend to the friendless; she is a daughter of the Force; she is powerful beyond measure.

She has no surname of note—no surname at all—but she doesn’t need one. She has her own strength. She will forge her own destiny.

Without him.

This is not his story. It’s hers.

Resolve returns.

The very moment her mind settles on what she knows she has to do, his mouth brushes her jaw—and her mind is filled with a vision of herself, with dark robes and blood red lips, alone on a jagged throne, the galaxy bowing before her—and him, empty-eyed and pale, on the ground at her feet—dead—

His muscles stiffen—

Because, of course, he has seen the same thing.

Without a sound, he shoves her away and stumbles back, flinging his arm out to summon his saber to his hand as she does the same.

Their weapons flash to life, and they face each other, still and solid and hiding their anguish.

“I should have known,” he mutters. She can feel the way he is berating himself for being so _stupid_ , and it takes every ounce of her self-control not to pull him back into her arms and apologize, cover him with kisses and tell him how much she wanted it to be true, too.

Instead, she hardens her features and says, “All I want is to be free of you. Whatever it takes.”

“You think this will free you?” His mouth quirks in a bitter smile. “If you kill me, you will _never_ be free. I should know.”

She says nothing, ignoring the twinge of misgiving in her gut as she begins to circle him, seeking an opening. She swears internally; she’d hoped to take him by surprise and avoid a duel, but now it looks like she has no choice.

“My death at your hands will bring you to the dark side as surely as joining me would.” He steps sideways carefully, circling with her. “You’re halfway there already. Either way, you will belong to the dark. Might as well do it the fun way.” His eyes flash with lust.

“I will _never_ turn to the dark,” she snarls.

“Why do you keep denying yourself?” he challenges her, mocking and resentful. “Whatever happened to embracing your feelings? You _wanted_ to take my hand.”

“I didn’t,” she insists. Only moments ago her heart raced with pleasure; now it’s filled with fear and fury.

“You did. Why didn’t you?”

“Because you’re a monster,” she bursts out, hateful and biting. “You have always been a monster, and you will never be anything more than a monster.” Her voice shakes. “And you’ve deluded yourself if you think I could ever love a monster.”

“Oh, I know.” He smirks mirthlessly. “I’ve known it my whole life. But you’re deluding yourself if you think you’re not a monster, too.”

She charges.

They slash and parry and whip around each other, and it’s nothing like their last fight. This is no dance—they throw themselves at each other recklessly, fierce and relentless. Rey taps her fury to put power behind each strike, meeting his raw strength with an energy born of bitterness. But she swipes wide, sacrificing speed for muscle, and she quickly finds herself on the defensive.

He forces her backwards until her back is against one of the massive, crumbling pillars. Their sabers lock—Rey grimaces as she pushes against him, eyes darting for a way out—she slackens the tension in her saber and drops, letting him fall forward from the sudden loss of resistance, and slips beneath his arm and around behind him—she slashes forward but he recovers quickly and manages to meet her saber with his own.

Her anger only grows as they clash over and over again in the shadow of the ancient valley. Her passion fuels her, and the planet’s Force energy feeds her, giving her the stamina to attack and deflect and run long after she should have tired.

She pauses, staff in both hands before her, panting and sweating and seeking another opportunity to strike. Across from her, he does the same, face twisted in a scowl. Their rage flows freely across the bond, amplifying and feeding on itself. No matter how many times they crash into each other, no matter how much power she draws from her anger, they are evenly matched.

This is the hardest thing she has ever done. The hardest thing she will ever do. But she has to do it.

He must die.

She bellows and rushes forward—he dashes toward her and lifts his lightsaber—

Suddenly her staff comes to an abrupt halt in midair, and in front of her Kylo’s arm is raised but frozen in place, the shaking red beam of his lightsaber poised above her. He’s not doing this. She grits her teeth and strains against whatever’s holding her in place, and she feels his own struggle through the bond—all in vain. Neither of them can move an inch. With great effort, he twists his head to look for the source of this power—

And his face drops like he’s seen a ghost.

Rey turns her own head to follow his gaze.

There, halfway down the valley, arms outstretched, shaking with exertion and fury and sorrow, stands Leia.

***

High above them in orbit, watching and waiting on his cloaked cruiser, Hux chuckles to himself.

Kylo Ren instructed him to prepare for the girl’s imminent capture, insisting that he would bring her back himself and no troops were to follow him. So it was excellent foresight on Hux’s part to have planted a lightspeed tracker on the Supreme Leader’s private ship several weeks ago.

“Send in the troops,” he orders. The command is relayed through the comms, and barely a minute later Hux watches as six transport ships, each ferrying three dozen stormtroopers, pass in front of the viewport on their way to the planet’s surface. Overkill, perhaps—or perhaps not. With Kylo Ren, he will take no chances.

Hux can hardly believe his luck. The Supreme Leader, the scavenger girl, and the Resistance’s symbol of hope in one fell swoop.

***

Leia twists her fingers, and their sabers lurch out of their hands and into hers. Rey finds she can move again, and it looks like Kylo can too—but while they both lower their arms, they stay where they are, uncertain of what to do next.

Rey notices for the first time that the _Falcon_ is here, not far from her x-wing. Now that she’s not focusing every bit of her energy on fighting, she notices Leia’s Force signature—along with Finn, Rose, and Poe, on board the ship. She swears under her breath. She should never have trusted Rose not to say anything. Her anger finds a new target.

“Give it back,” she yells. Leia turns and begins walking away, shaking her head. Her disappointment is palpable, and it makes Rey’s stomach twist with shame—and then makes her want to scream with frustration. She glances over at Kylo Ren, who is still rooted to the spot, staring at his mother’s retreating back.

Rey walks, then jogs, then runs after Leia. “Give it _back_ , Leia,” she shouts again. “Let me finish this. _Please._ I have to do this.”

Leia continues striding purposefully towards the _Falcon_. She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even glance at Rey—just stares straight ahead at the ship’s entry ramp.

Rey comes up alongside her and flings her arms wide. “Say something!”

Leia stops in her tracks. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, but it carries clearly, conveying both her displeasure and her complete control. “I thought you were smarter than this, Rey.”

Rey swells with rage. “ _Smarter?_ I thought you trusted me! Do you think I haven’t thought of _every other option?_ Do you think if there were any other way to break this bond, I wouldn’t try it? But _this is the only way._ The galaxy will be better off without him.”

Leia flinches but continues speaking in that same authoritative tone. “Regardless. You were _reckless._ ” Her mouth is pressed tight in a grim line. “Look up.”

“What?”

“Look. Up.”

Rey looks up.

A star destroyer and its accompanying retinue of ships hover in the atmosphere above them. Half a dozen stormtrooper transports are descending rapidly to the surface.

“No,” she breathes, all her anger suddenly redirecting itself back at the dark figure still frozen in place halfway across the valley. She shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t be hurt—she lured him here to kill him, after all—but somehow this betrayal, on top of everything else she has suffered at his hands, stings more than anything. “You said you came alone,” she shouts, cold and mocking and terrified.

“I did,” he says, eyes wide, and she feels his shock rippling through the bond. “I-I don’t understand—”

But she’s not listening. She and Leia are hurrying toward the _Falcon_ —there’s no time for blame.

“How did you even get past them in the first place?” Rey asks, then answers her own question. “Oh—Poe. But—you shouldn’t have come, it’s too risky—”

“Poe assured me he could get us out. And you’re too important. I’m not abandoning you here. Now let’s go.”

They race up the _Falcon_ ’s ramp, past BB-8 (who gives them a cheerful _beep-beep_ of welcome), and into the cockpit, where Poe waits in the pilot’s seat and Rose is strapped into one of the passenger seats.

“I’m sorry, Rey,” she says, her voice small as Rey takes the copilot’s chair and Leia buckles herself into the other passenger seat.

“It’s fine,” she says, and tries to convince herself that it is. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead now.”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Leia says shortly. “Get us out of here, Dameron.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says. He opens the intercom. “We’ve got company. You ready back there?”

“Always,” comes Finn’s voice from the gunner station.

Poe lifts the _Falcon_ expertly off the ground just as the first transport lands and begins discharging its stormtroopers. As they descend, the transports fire on the ships already on the ground; the _Falcon_ ’s shields hold up under the barrage, barely, but Rey’s x-wing and Kylo Ren’s TIE fighter go up in flames. Poe stays low to the valley floor, hoping to put some distance between them and the First Order soldiers before taking to the skies; Finn manages to take out one of the transports, but it won’t do them much good if they can’t get past that star destroyer.

Dozens of stormtroopers form ranks facing their Supreme Leader, who is without a weapon, without a ship, and utterly alone, and Rey feels her own breathing speed up to mirror his as he _panics_ —

And then it dawns on her.

He didn’t call them.

“They’re not here for us,” she whispers, looking behind her at Leia, whose eyes widen in horror as she realizes the same thing. “They’re here for—”

The _Falcon_ rocks violently as a blast from the last transport breaks through its shields, and it careens to the valley floor, sliding forcefully across the ground until it finally comes to a stop.

“Is everyone alright?” Poe calls back as alarms blare and dust flies. Rey looks around at the others; her head is spinning. “Don’t worry, BB-8 and I’ll get us back in the air in no time—just sit tight—”

“Wait!” Rey cries. “Where’s Leia?” The general’s seat is empty, the restraints swinging free, and now Rey hears the _swish_ of the _Falcon_ ’s door opening, and suddenly it hits her—

_She’s going to protect him._

Rey grits her teeth. She can’t leave Leia to face this alone.

She ignores the shouts of protest behind her as she scrambles from her seat, out of the cockpit, and after Leia.

***

Kylo’s limbs buzz with adrenaline as the First Order soldiers complete their formation and prepare to advance. This is Hux’s doing; he’s certain of it. _Stupid, stupid._ He should have known.

His hand reaches reflexively for his lightsaber, but it’s not there. His eyes dart around the valley, looking for something, anything he can use, but there’s nothing. The nearest pillars and boulders he could use as cover are too far, and his TIE fighter has been reduced to flames and melting metal. He feels Rey’s anger and fear pulsing along the bond, and in spite of everything, he wishes she were next to him now.

No cover, no weapon, no backup, no ship. No escape.

As always, he is alone.

And then—behind him, approaching steadily, he feels a presence, warm and careful and familiar.

_It can’t be._

From the moment she landed on this Force-forsaken planet, not once has she met his eyes. She stopped him in his tracks, she pulled his lightsaber from his hand, and she walked away. Like she always has. Choosing something else—someone else—over her own son. She never looked back, as if, by refusing to acknowledge him, she could erase her shameful, monstrous son from the universe.

And yet—

He turns, and there is his mother.

She has stopped some distance away, eyeing him cautiously, chest heaving, and he wonders how long it’s been since she ran. In the background, he notices the _Millennium Falcon_ at an unnatural angle on the ground, and Rey, sprinting towards him, but for once, even she can’t draw his attention away. He sees only Leia.

She holds out his lightsaber.

“You trust me?” he asks, skeptical.

“Yes.”

He cannot remember the last time his mother spoke to him. He never thought he would hear her voice again. He never thought she would trust him to do anything again. And he never, in his wildest imaginings, thought she would give up her own chance to escape so she could stand at his side and face down hundreds of First Order soldiers with no backup and only two lightsabers.

But here she is, hand extended.

He extends his own arm, and his saber flies to his hand.

“The odds of us getting out of this alive are slim,” he says, even as his mouth hints at a smile.

Leia smirks. “Never tell me the odds.”

She ignites Rey’s lightsaber staff, twists it in two, and throws one half behind her for her apprentice to catch before striding forward and taking a defensive stance next to her son.

The stormtroopers begin to advance.

Moments later, Rey skids to a stop on Leia’s other side, planting her feet and hefting her saber protectively. She studiously avoids his gaze, but he feels her tug on the bond and remind him, _I’m protecting her. Not you._

Then the first blaster bolts hit the ground at their feet.

The enemy fire comes fast and thick, and it’s truly a miracle that they’re able to deflect it all. Kylo’s red saber flashes in one hand while the other reaches forward to grab blaster bolts with the Force and push them away. Next to him, his mother does the same. After all these years, he had almost forgotten just how powerful she is with the Force—she uses her lightsaber sparingly, gravitating towards Force pushes and pulls, frequently grabbing handfuls of bolts at once and flinging them back at the soldiers. Snoke told him once that he saw raw, untamed power in him. This is where it came from.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rey’s lightsaber spinning so fast it’s little more than a blur of blue. He can feel her reaching for the Force, but it’s primarily to speed up her limbs and enhance her senses. She relies on her saber to deflect the laser blasts; and why shouldn’t she? She’s masterful with a blade. He can’t see, but he’s certain every single diverted bolt hits an enemy target on the other side. (Something deep in his chest purrs with pride, and he gives an annoyed grunt as he slashes out at the oncoming fire. This is life or death; he can’t even stop thinking about her _now?_ )

The army begins to fan out, forming a wide circle around the three Force-users. The stormtroopers keep a wide berth—they know perfectly well their advantage comes from numbers and distance. Even if they had weapons for close combat, they’d never last long against any of their lightsaber-wielding targets.

Kylo, Rey, and Leia push themselves back-to-back, arms and minds working furiously against the barrage. He can see the _Falcon_ now, off in the distance, still stuck on the ground, and he curses its pilot for not knowing how to coax it back into the air. Earlier he sensed three sentient beings on the ship, but none of them have appeared on the entry ramp. Rey’s friends couldn’t get to them anyway, now that they’re surrounded. Not that two or three more fighters would make a difference.

There will be no air support and no reinforcements. No help is coming.

Already, even with Leia’s strength and Rey’s precision and his own wild power, it is obvious they are losing. They can only kill so many by deflecting blaster bolts back at their enemies. No matter how many soldiers they take down, more fill in the gaps. And even if they somehow inexplicably survive this wave, Hux will just send more.

He can sense his mother getting tired—she is old, and he wonders when she was last in combat, or used this much Force power. His own energy flags, his limbs aching. Even Rey’s whirling lightsaber slows.

It’s too much. The wall of white surrounding them remains unbroken.

He reaches out through the Force and feels Rey’s own exhaustion, and desperation, and resolve. Suddenly, frantically, he wonders if there’s any way they could use the bond to their advantage—but the moment he touches her mind with his own to suggest the idea, she shoves him away and shuts herself off.

The blaster bolts get closer and closer. One hits an inch from Rey’s feet; another passes just over their heads; he hisses as another grazes his cheek.

And then—

An opening.

The line of stormtroopers breaks on one side—just barely—the space of one or two soldiers who fell and were not replaced—just enough to break through, maybe—

Hope swells, then dies. It’s too far. The moment they move, the gap will be noticed and filled; the moment they move, they lower their defenses; the moment they move, they will be shot.

Anger and fear and pain roll through his body, lending him strength. He growls. It’s only a matter of time, now—but he’s going down fighting.

Next to him, Leia takes a deep breath.

When she speaks, she is strangely calm. “When I say run, you run. Understood?”

“What?” Rey yells. “It’s too far—we’ll never—”

“Trust me, Rey,” Leia says. Though she is quiet, her voice carries clearly over the fray. “Trust the Force. Do as I ask.”

Foreboding brushes Kylo’s mind as he senses resolution and—peace, from his mother, completely incongruous with their surroundings. “What are you—”

_“Run!”_

They break, running at full tilt towards the breach in the line, and he holds his saber high, ready to deflect the wave of blaster fire—

But it never comes.

Power _surges_ through the Force, so palpable he can almost see it. A ring—a shield—forms around them, knocking aside every blaster bolt before it gets anywhere near them. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know that it’s his mother, more powerful than he ever knew.

They sprint through the gap and across the dry, cracked ground in the direction of the _Falcon_. The ship’s engines whine as the pilot tries to lift it off the ground. Kylo doesn’t care about the traitors and spies he sees waiting for them on the entry ramp, and he doesn’t care that he’s walking into the arms of the Resistance, and he doesn’t care that it’s his father’s kriffing ship—if they can just get to it—

But blaster fire starts to slip through Leia’s defenses. A shot skitters past his arm; ahead of him, Rey ducks as another narrowly misses her head. The shield is taking too much power—it won’t last long enough to get them to the _Falcon._ Behind him, he can hear his mother panting, stumbling. They’re not going to make it. His breath comes in short spurts as he forces his legs to keep moving, and—

He feels a wrenching, burning pain in his side, and he hears a heavy thud behind him.

Leia has been hit.

The shield cracks. Blaster fire rains down on them.

Rey stops in her tracks, clutching at her side, and turns. “Leia!” she screams.

Frantically, Kylo dashes back to where his mother has fallen, lifting her into his arms and shoving through the bond to Rey to _get behind that pillar,_ and she runs without question, and he follows her, dodging blaster bolts and praying as he slides behind the monolith that Leia is still alive.

He deposits her gently on the ground. Her pulse is weak; her Force signature is faint.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Rey mutters over and over again, running her hands over Leia’s stomach and sides as she looks for the wound. Her voice shakes. Her panic flows through the bond, amplifying his own. “Don’t worry, Leia, it’s—it’s going to be f-fine, I can—I can heal you—”

Leia’s eyelids flutter as she catches Rey’s hand. Rey stops, and Leia gives one tiny, firm shake of her head. Kylo’s heart plummets into his stomach, and he understands, suddenly and completely, that his mother is dying. The amount of energy she expended to form the shield around them would have been enough by itself; the blaster wound only pushed her over the edge.

Her breath rasps, and with her other hand she finds her son’s. Trembling, he meets her eyes.

“Ben,” she whispers.

He sobs.

Then Leia lets out one long breath, a sigh like the weight of the galaxy has been lifted from her shoulders, and does not breathe in again.

After a moment, her body fades, leaving only her uniform and the other half of Rey’s lightsaber.

The soldiers have stopped firing.

Everything is silent.

***

She stares at the spot where Leia just was—she was right there, right in front of her—her leader, her mentor, her friend—her mother, almost—she could have saved her, and—now she’s _gone—_

And it’s all his fault.

His face is streaked with tears, shocked and empty and still.

It’s his fault the First Order followed him here—his fault he joined them in the first place—his fault that Leia came back for him—his fault that she’s—

A howl of anguish rips from Rey’s throat.

She hears armored footsteps getting closer, just around the other side of the pillar.

They are out of time.

Leia is dead, and it was all for nothing.

Fury and terror and agony and grief overtake everything else, and she lets herself sink into it—and more power than she has ever felt in her life floods her body—her whole being is filled with the Force, crackling along her limbs, and there’s nowhere else for it to go but _out—_

She _screams—_

—and a massive wave of lightning flashes out of her hands and across the oncoming stormtroopers.

The pillar cracks in half and topples sideways while every single remaining soldier writhes and thrashes beneath her power. Another scream bursts from her throat, unbidden—the lightning brightens, intensifies, heats and spits and burns.

And then it is gone.

The stormtroopers lie dead on the ground.

Her anger is not spent.

She turns to Kylo Ren, cowering before her, still stunned at the loss of his mother and more terrified than she has ever seen him.

She grabs her sabers and ignites them both.

He scrambles to his feet, backing away as his own lightsaber comes up to defend himself. She should be exhausted, weak from running and fighting and mourning, but instead she is overcome with hatred and grief, and passion leads to strength leads to power, and her first strike is so forceful it throws him off balance and knocks him backward. She gives him no time to recover—no time to attack—keeping him on the defensive—she wants him dead—he _deserves_ to die—she strikes again, again, _again,_ as he stumbles and barely manages to parry her blows. Her tears are gone, and with every slash she pushes along the bond, _Your fault, it’s your fault, it’s all your fault,_ and she revels in his shame and in his bitter regret.

She beats him back and down, and she feels powerful and savage and cruel and _so good._

It’s over almost as quickly as it began.

He trips.

He lands on his back, and his lightsaber rolls out of his hand.

She pushes her sabers down for a killing blow.

_Rey._

Time seems to slow as Rey hears Leia’s voice. Out of the corner of her eye she almost sees a flicker of blue, and in her belly she feels a sudden, familiar, melancholy warmth.

_This is not who you are, Rey._

She can’t catch her breath. Her eyes are wet.

_This is not what I wanted. This is not what you want._

_And this is not who you are._

She realizes what she has done—what she is doing—what she is about to do—

And she doesn’t want it.

She tries to stop it, tries to take it back—

But it’s too late.

Her sabers bite into his stomach.

Leia’s presence fades.

Time resumes.

She stares down at the lines of blue piercing his body.

She pulls her sabers back, switches them off, and drops to her knees at his side.

Her eyes flick around the valley at the death and destruction she has caused. Her anger is gone, and in its place she finds grief. Shock. Regret.

And above all, shame.

Kylo Ren’s breath rattles in his chest. She feels an echo of the wound in her own stomach, and she knows it must be excruciating for him. Their eyes lock, and in his gaze she sees pain and sorrow and guilt and acceptance—

And _still—_ love.

She couldn’t save Leia. But she can still save him.

Roughly, she brushes the wetness from her eyes and begins searching for the wounds she inflicted. His armor is too thick—she needs to be able to touch him, not his clothes—she scrabbles to pull off the outer layers of black. When she reaches his undershirt, it’s enough, and she lays her hand over the holes in his stomach and tries to calm herself and tap into the Force. She senses him, through the bond, steady and soothing in spite of his ragged heartbeat, assuring her that no matter what happens, he still—he will always—

She closes her eyes and breathes. Feels the Force flow through her. Reaches for her life force, and his. Breathes in again, out again, and lets go.

Her middle twinges with pain as a portion of her life force flows into him.

Beneath her fingers, she feels skin and muscle knitting together, smoothing away the wound, and his chest lifts as he takes in a full, deep breath. The echoing pain in her stomach fades.

She opens her eyes.

He will live.

She senses his weakness, his aching muscles and drained energy. He lays his head back on the ground and closes his eyes.

“When I pictured you tearing off my clothes,” he rasps, “this was not what I had in mind.”

She lets out a strangled choke of a laugh. Her face is streaked with tears; her hand is still on his stomach, feeling his skin through the ragged hole in his shirt.

Rey sits beside him and listens to the wind and the sounds of his breathing. Leia’s clothes rustle in the breeze. She picks up the other half of her lightsaber and joins the pieces together, rolling the hilt in her hands.

It’s not his fault Leia died. It’s hers. Her fault that she lured him to this empty planet. Her fault that she came here chasing after answers. Her fault she didn’t listen to Leia’s advice.

Her fault.

The valley is eerily still. She forces herself to look up and out across the ranks of dead stormtroopers in front of her.

She feels… numb.

She looks down at Kylo Ren again. Still alive. The bond still intact.

But maybe his death was never the right answer.

Maybe she’s not worthy of the Force, after what she’s done.

Maybe she never was.

“I did want to take your hand,” she admits, quietly. Startled, he opens his eyes and stares at her. “Ben’s hand.”

Then she stands, and walks away.

“Where are you going?” he calls, his voice still unsteady.

“If I told you, you’d stop me.”

“Then I’m going to stop you now,” he says, and she can feel a slight panic in the bond.

“No,” she says simply. “You won’t.”

She hears him trying to pick himself up off the ground to follow her, but he’s too weak, too slow. She pauses, looks back at him, and gives him a small, resigned smile. She lifts her fingers and gently pushes him back to the ground.

“Come find me,” she says. “In a little while.”

She turns and walks toward the canyon.

In the distance, she senses Finn and Rose emerging at last from the _Falcon,_ rushing in her direction, and part of her wonders what in the world has kept the ship on the ground, but mostly she doesn’t blame them for not coming to their aid—Leia is dead, and they probably would be too, if they’d tried to help—and anyway, it’s over now.

She doesn’t want to see them. She doesn’t want to face Finn and admit that, after all their work trying to save as many stormtroopers as they could, she single handedly killed hundreds of them in a moment of weakness. And she especially doesn’t want them to know what she’s about to do.

She enters the canyon, following the familiar path to the cave. When she reaches the entrance, she pauses, soaking in the feeling of sunlight on her face and the Force beneath her feet. She can feel Sheev waiting for her, welcoming and patient.

At last, she enters the tunnel, and again she pauses. She turns back to the entrance, lifts her hands, and pulls. The entrance collapses in a thunder of rock and dust.

No one will follow her.

No one will stop her.

When the last pebble slides to a stop, she ignites her saber staff. The blue glow dispels the darkness, lighting her way.

She does not hesitate.

She walks down the tunnel, to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries forever*
> 
> Sorry this chapter took me a little longer than the others, folks. I struggled a bit with this one, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. We're getting close to the end now, though! I apologize in advance for the pain... although I guess it might be too late for that lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! <3


	7. Chapter 7

Hux stands at the head of the conference table and awaits good news.

The other highest-ranking First Order officials are here at his request, filling every seat at the table, ready to bear witness to the Supreme Leader’s death and advance Hux to fill the rank. They mutter quietly amongst themselves while Hux looks out the viewport with his hands behind his back and a smug smile on his face. He has been waiting for this moment for months. Years.

At last, he hears the door swish open, and he turns eagerly to see a blank-faced officer waiting in the doorway.

“General Hux,” the man begins, “If you would step outside for a moment, sir.”

His heart sinks.

He tries not to let his nerves show on his face as he strides out of the room. “What is it?” he snaps as soon as the door closes behind him.

The officer looks pale. “The troops you sent are dead, sir.”

Hux feels the blood drain from his face. Hundreds of stormtroopers. “What— _all of them?_ ”

“Yes, sir.” The man swallows. “It was the girl. She—blasted them with some kind of—energy—”

“What about the Supreme Leader?” Hux cuts him off.

The officer shakes his head slightly. “Still alive.” Hux swears, a rare moment of discomposure for the uptight general. “But,” the officer adds hurriedly, “General Organa is dead. And the ships they brought are all destroyed—well, not the _Millennium Falcon,_ but it seems to be having some trouble getting off the ground. And even if it does, it poses no threat to our fleet, sir.”

“Clearly you don’t know that ship’s reputation,” Hux mutters. That kriffing ship is known across the galaxy for its unnatural good luck getting out of any and every scrape. Hux is not a superstitious man, but if the _Falcon_ is here—and if Kylo Ren and the girl are still alive—then it’s only a matter of time before—

“Send in more troops,” Hux orders. “Put walkers down this time. As many as we can spare. I want that ship destroyed and the Force users eliminated. And—” He hesitates. This might be a bad idea. Then again, he’s already instigated a coup against the Supreme Leader, and if he fails… well. Better use every piece he has. “Send in the Knights of Ren.”

The officer blanches. “The… the Knights, sir?”

“Yes,” Hux snaps, “and be quick about it. Unless you want to witness the Supreme Leader’s wrath firsthand.”

Without another word, the man bows and scurries down the hallway to carry out Hux’s orders. Hux turns back to the conference room door, then thinks better of it and begins making his way toward the docking bay, where his private shuttle awaits.

Just in case.

***

Night is falling on Korriban. A blood red sunset creeps across the sky. Stars are beginning to blink awake, and a moon is peeking its face over the horizon.

Kylo Ren sits in the dust, grabs his lightsaber, and tries to make his body move.

Rey has disappeared into the canyon not far away, her friends following at a distance. He doesn’t know what she intends to do there, but he feels her determination and her dread like it’s his own, and he knows that whatever it is, he has to stop her.

But he can’t get up. Grief for his mother still permeates his body, and though it has faded from its initial stabbing shock, it is still exhausting and all-encompassing, as only grief can be. And aside from that, he has been moving nonstop for the last several hours, and he can only push himself like that for so long. She may have healed him, but his muscles still feel like jelly; every time he tries to rise, his legs wobble beneath him and refuse to keep him upright. He rests his arms on his knees and lets out a huff of frustration. How is he supposed to help her if he can’t even stand up?

_Well done, my boy._

He freezes. The voice, again.

 _By obeying my commands, you drew her to you—and drove her to me._ The voice cackles. _Very soon she will be mine, and after I am finished with her, you may have her._

Kylo’s gut twists. “Finished with her?” he asks.

 _Then she will be yours,_ the voice repeats, ignoring what it must know was the intent of the question: _what are you going to do to her?_

“I don’t—” Bile rises in his throat as panic sets in. “I don’t want this.”

 _Too late, boy,_ the voice hisses, menacing. _Far too late. You cannot stop her now. She belongs to me, thanks to you. Soon her power will be mine also._ It chuckles. _You even brought me an army. How generous._

Kylo looks up at the ships in orbit—then around him at the valley, where powerful Sith lords have been entombed for generations—then feels Rey’s intent pulsing along the bond as she descends below the ground—and he has a sinking feeling that she is about to do something terrible. Irreversible.

 _You do not want your reward?_ the voice muses.

“She’s not a _prize,_ ” he growls.

 _Very well,_ says the voice. _Then you will have no objections when I kill her._

And it’s gone.

Terrified, Kylo plants his hands on the ground and pushes, trying to make his limbs obey. He has to help her—has to stop this, before it’s too late—not just for Rey, but for the galaxy. He pushes himself to his knees, puts a foot up, then the other, then falls again. He clenches his fists and tries again, back onto his knees with his elbows firmly in the dirt, but he can go no further. He lets out a shaky, frustrated breath.

He’ll never get to her in time.

Two transparent hands appear before him.

He looks up.

Luke and Leia stand before him, clear and blue and smiling, each with a hand extended to him.

“Let us help,” Leia says.

He stares.

For years, he has believed he is alone. At every turn, he has fought masters who controlled him and allies who would betray him at any opportunity. Even before he turned, he felt different. Separate. Abandoned. But—

His uncle apologized to him. His father tried to help him. His mother came back for him.

His parents died for him.

He has never been alone.

He reaches out both hands and takes theirs.

They lift him up.

As he stands, he feels a warm, supportive power flow from their hands, along his arms, and through his whole body. His limbs strengthen, and at last he can stand on his own. He suddenly finds he can’t meet their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything.”

For a moment, there is silence.

A voice, gruffly affectionate and familiar as his own, comes from behind him: “So are we.”

He turns, and there is his father, grinning that cocky, fond half-smile he remembers so well. He looks back at Luke and Leia, who are smiling too. “But—how—”

Luke shrugs. “Being one with the Force comes with some privileges.”

Leia’s eyes are on Han. “And your father always was good at twisting the rules.”

He glances from his parents to his uncle, then to the mouth of the canyon. He doesn’t know what to say; his mind flits from question to question, and at last he asks, simply, “How do I fix it?”

That single question contains all the rest, and he knows they understand, without him saying it out loud: _I’m not worthy of the Force, or you, or her. I have done so much wrong. So much harm. Even if I help her, it doesn’t make up for everything else I’ve done. How can I ever make this right?_

_Is it too late for me?_

“It’s not too late,” Luke assures him, quietly. In his eyes are remorse, and apology, and forgiveness, and hope.

Han puts his hands in his pockets. “You do what you can.”

“What we stood for,” Leia says, “What she still stands for—that’s not gone. Don’t let it disappear.”

“She needs you,” Luke adds. “And you need her.”

“What if I fail?” he whispers. He feels Rey’s fear like it’s his own, and his stomach fills with dread at the thought of reaching out along the bond and feeling nothing at the other end.

Leia takes his hand again. “Whatever happens, we will be with you.”

“To the end.” Luke nods.

Han lifts his hand to his son’s cheek and meets his eyes. “We love you, Ben.”

His throat bobs. His face is wet. “Dad,” he chokes out.

Han’s smile is softer now. “I know.” And he fades.

The man who was Kylo Ren wipes his face and notices, all of a sudden, that Rey’s friends are there—the traitor—no, Finn—and the mechanic—Rose, he thinks—staring in utter disbelief from several yards away at him and the blue-tinged ghosts at his side.

“Leia,” Finn breathes.

Luke walks over to Finn, whose eyes are wide and mouth is gaping, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on him,” he says. “He’s a good kid. Deep down.” He winks at his nephew, and then he is gone.

“The Force will be with you, Ben.” Leia releases his hand and steps back, still smiling. “Always.”

He watches his mother fade away, but in his chest he still feels her warmth, and Luke’s, and Han’s. He removes the lightsaber from his belt and turns it in his hands one last time. Then he drops it.

Ben Solo takes a deep breath, lets the light roll through him, and feels new again.

***

Rose levels her blaster at Kylo Ren—Ben—whoever he is. He looks up at her and lifts his hands in the air, impatient but resigned.

“Where’s Rey?” he asks.

“She went down a tunnel and the entrance caved in behind her,” Finn responds briskly, aiming his own blaster at the former Supreme Leader. “I couldn’t move the rocks. What did you do to her?”

“Nothing, I swear.” Ben lifts his arms higher as Rose waves her blaster threateningly. “I just want to help her. She’s in danger. Tell me where she went and I can move the rocks.”

Finn shifts uneasily. He remembers the Supreme Leader being petulant and volatile, like a tightly coiled spring. But now he seems—different. Restless, gruff, a bit irritable, but nothing like he was before. For the first time, Finn notices the resemblance between the man in front of him and Han Solo.

“Why should we trust _you?”_ Rose spits.

“We don’t have much time,” Ben responds, jerking his head up at the sky. Finn and Rose look up to see dozens more First Order ships descending to the planet’s surface: Stormtrooper transports, TIE fighters, walker dropships. Finn’s stomach plummets. Hundreds of troops against one ship and three people—four, if they count Ben.

“We can do this” —Ben gestures back and forth between them— “later. But if we don’t get Rey now and get the _Falcon_ running, we’re not getting out of here. You need my help.” Finn eyes Ben warily. The man meets his gaze, steady and certain, as he continues, “Reach out with your feelings. I’m telling the truth.”

Tentatively, Finn reaches out in the Force, and he feels… restlessness. Fear. Adrenaline. An overwhelming, abiding love.

Truth.

Finn lowers his blaster. “Alright.” Rose glances at him and opens her mouth as if to argue, but at the look on his face, she lowers her weapon too. Ben’s hands drop to his sides. “We’ll try to get the _Falcon_ in the air and call in some backup.”

“Tell the pilot to try overriding the connection between the power core and the nav computer. That usually works.”

“Got it.” Again Finn is reminded of Han Solo, but the thought lasts only a moment before being replaced by another. “What star destroyer is that?”

“The _Steadfast._ This is Hux’s doing; he’ll want to be here himself to watch.”

“Perfect.” Finn smiles grimly. “You go get Rey. The tunnel’s about a mile up the canyon. Bring her back in one piece, or we’ll leave you here to rot.”

Ben’s mouth twitches. “Of course.” He nods at the saber at his feet. “Take that. You might need it.”

Rose frowns. “What about you?”

Ben shrugs and starts walking purposefully toward the canyon entrance. “I’ll be fine. If I’m fast enough.”

Rose and Finn exchange looks. “Wait!” Rose calls after Ben’s retreating back. He stops, and when he turns around, Rose tosses her blaster to him. “Just in case.”

Ben nods his thanks, then sprints in the direction of the canyon, and Rey.

Finn picks up the lightsaber where it fell. He turns it over, then grips it firmly in one hand. He glances up—the troops are almost here. “Let’s go.”

He and Rose break for the _Falcon._

***

When Rey steps at last into Sheev’s chamber, he stands before his coffin with a look of compassion on his face.

“Take it away,” she says.

He doesn’t doubt her. Doesn’t question her intent or her decision. He just nods and gestures to the space in front of him. She kneels on the hard floor; the stone is cold on her knees. Gripping her saberstaff tightly at her side, she bows her head and shuts her eyes. The only sounds are the buzz of her saber and her own rapid breathing.

“Prepare yourself,” says Sheev, and for a moment she thinks she hears an undertone of thrill in his voice. “This will hurt.”

She tightens her jaw and, for the last time, reaches out in the Force to feel—anything and everything she can. The Force energy emanating from the planet’s core—the mountains and caves surrounding her, standing for millennia—the wind playing along the surface, sometimes playful and sometimes pure wrath as it eats away at the rock—Poe, frustrated—Rose, scared but firm—Finn, angry and mourning and confused and trying to talk to her—and—

Ben.

Not Kylo Ren.

Just Ben.

Her heart swells.

_Goodbye._

One last time, she feels connected to the universe and everything in it.

Then, with a jolt of agony in her center, that part of her soul is ripped away.

She feels like her heart is being torn out of her body. She feels like her rib cage is collapsing in on itself. A scream, panicked and tortured and eternal, rises up in her chest, and she clenches her teeth and swallows it down, because if she lets it out she will never stop screaming.

The Force flows out of her, and all she can do is weep.

At last, when every drop is gone—when she is empty—when she feels as desolate and hollow as her desert home—it stops.

She collapses on the floor. Her body is wracked with shudders as her stomach heaves, trying to empty itself.

When her shaking slows, she listens, and again all is silent but for her own labored breaths and the hum of her saber on the floor. Experimentally, she reaches out with her mind.

She feels… nothing.

Only a great, aching emptiness.

She sobs.

***

Just before the canyon entrance, a sob rises up in Ben’s chest and he stumbles to a stop, hands on his knees. His knees are suddenly wobbly. He feels like he’s just been hit in the chest with a blaster—his lungs heave, trying to take in air. His senses feel dulled.

Rey.

He reaches along the bond, frantic, and Rey is still there, thank the Force. But she feels—hollow. Something is missing. Something is wrong.

And he realizes—

The Force.

It’s gone.

No, wait—not gone. Not with her, but not gone. There’s something else. He pushes the hair out of his face, still breathing hard. Dread fills the pit of his stomach as he reaches out to touch this new presence—

And immediately recoils in horror and shock and disgust.

It’s the voice. It’s—

Palpatine.

And suddenly he understands.

She gave him her connection to the Force.

And now he’s back.

Why— _why_ would she—?

But it doesn’t really matter why. There’s no time to wonder about that now. He feels her pain and shock like a knife. All that matters is getting to her. Stopping him. Helping her.

 _I’m coming,_ he pushes along the bond, unsure if she can still feel him without the Force. _Hold on. Hold on._

Beneath the wind and the sounds of blaster fire in the valley, his ear catches the subtle sounds of whipping cloaks and footsteps in the sand. He glances behind him, and in the dark he can just barely make out a dozen black-clad figures closing in on him. Their masks glint in the moonlight.

The Knights of Ren.

His lip curls. He doesn’t have time for this.

He lets off two shots with his blaster, hears a grunt and a thud, then turns back to the canyon and keeps running.

***

Slumped on the floor, Rey tries to calm her rapid heartbeat, but no matter how many gulping breaths she takes, she can’t seem to get enough air. All she can think is, _Gone, it’s gone, it’s gone,_ over and over again, spiraling downward. Sheev kneels before her and gently lifts her face to meet his gaze, two fingers under her chin.

Two very solid fingers.

He smiles, and it is grateful and gleeful and wolfish. His face is lit by the blue glow of her saber, and she realizes she can’t see through his nose and wrinkles and smile to the stone wall behind him.

“Thank you, my child.”

“What?” she says—tries to say, but because her throat is ragged with pain and exhaustion and confusion and that eternal, suppressed scream, it’s not even quite a whisper.

Sheev chuckles lightly, lips still closed in that awful smile. “You did not want your connection to the Force,” he says. “So I… took it.”

Rey’s heart stops. Her breath catches. Her stomach drops. Some part of her, in the back of her mind, wonders just how many more betrayals she can take.

The _why_ forms on her lips, but she can’t force enough air into her lungs to ask it out loud.

“Such power,” he murmurs half to himself, and his hand is suddenly tight on her jaw, twisting her head firmly from side to side as he examines her. “And you had no need of it, nor any idea how to use it. You would have squandered it. While I—dead, powerless, wasting away on the edge of the galaxy— _I_ needed it. I alone could use that power to its fullest potential, by giving myself a new body, and then… picking up where I left off. So you see, I could not let such power go to waste.”

He stands, turning his hands over and staring at them in wonder as blue sparks flicker along his fingers. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose, relishing in the Force as it flows through him for the first time in decades. Then he flings his arms high and a bolt of lightning crackles out of his hands and into the roof of the cave. With a resounding _boom_ that makes the ground quake beneath her, a massive, gaping crack opens in the ceiling and in the floor, splitting the coffin in two.

When he finally lowers his hands and the dust settles, she can see all the way through the rock overhead to the sky above them. Night has fallen; a handful of stars are visible before a First Order starship floats into view and blocks them. A cold breeze whisks through the new gap in the stone and makes her shiver.

Her mind is numb. She can’t tell what hurts the worst: losing Leia, losing the Force, Sheev’s betrayal, her own miserable failure as a Jedi, or the certainty that, regardless, the First Order is still out there, and she and her friends are all going to die.

Then Sheev turns to her, and his smile is so malicious, she wonders how it was ever possible for him to hide it from her before.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispers, though she suspects she already knows the answer.

“Kill you? Oh, no,” he chuckles. “No, I promised the boy I would keep you alive. As a gift. Despite what you may think of me, I do keep my promises.” He grins manically. “You make excellent bait, my dear.” Her stomach writhes as he extends his hands toward her. “Now. Shall we find out whether removing one’s Force connection is enough to break a Force dyad?”

Lightning flashes out of his hands and into her, and it feels like every cell—every molecule of her body—her very soul—is burning, and at last the scream she had been holding back finds its way out.

When the sparks fade, she lies curled in on herself on the cave floor, muscles shaking and weak. She tries to move her hand—her fingers—one finger—but the pain lurches down her limbs and she stills, praying it will pass.

But there—beneath the burning, the aching, the stabbing in her lungs each time she takes a breath—is Ben.

Just an inkling. Just a hint, a suggestion.

But he is there.

He is afraid for her.

He is coming for her.

She sobs once with relief, then groans at the pain that shoots through her again as the sob shakes her body. Sheev cackles. “Ahh… So it is still there. Your emotions betray you, girl, as do his. Even now, I can feel his fear and” —he practically spits— “his _love_ for you. Stupid boy. He never did learn control. So much the better for me. He will be here soon enough.” His grin is wide and menacing. “The power of a Force dyad. Mine.” He examines one hand, then holds it out lazily. “Let’s see if we can’t speed him up a bit, shall we?”

Again the lightning flashes out, and he laughs and laughs as she writhes on the cave floor. The whole world becomes light and fire and pain, and she is afraid it will never stop.

At last, mercifully, everything goes black.

***

Hux drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. He checks the time again; gets up and paces across his quarters once, twice, five times; forces himself to sit back down.

What’s taking so long? He knew instigating a coup against the Supreme Leader was a risk, but he took every precaution. Even Kylo Ren shouldn’t be able to survive such an assault.

And yet he waits.

A smart knock sounds on his door, followed by the same officer from earlier entering the room. Hux stands eagerly, but the man’s face indicates no good news.

“Well? Is he dead?”

“No, sir. But the Knights are close behind him. They will have him very soon, sir.”

Hux growls and turns away.

“There’s, ah—there’s more, sir.”

“What?” Hux snaps.

The officer’s mouth opens and closes, as if trying to decide what to tell him first. “The _Millennium Falcon_ is up again. They seem to have sent out a distress signal, sir. Several more Resistance fighters have arrived. All small—nothing compared to our fleet—not much of a threat, but—”

“Shoot them down,” orders Hux. “They’re planning something. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Yes, sir.” The man hesitates. “There’s… one more thing.”

Hux rubs his temples. “Yes, what is it?”

“Well, sir, about a dozen of our own ships that were stationed elsewhere in the galaxy have just arrived, but we don’t know who called for reinforcements. No one knows why they’re here. And—” The officer fidgets with the edge of his jacket. “Several stormtrooper squadrons on the planet are—not responding, sir. Three transports’ worth, as well as a TIE squadron. We’re not sure what’s wrong.”

Hux shifts uneasily. This can’t be good. “It must be a trick. A trap set by the Resistance. Find out what’s going on and send me regular reports. And have it done quietly—no need to, uh, worry the other generals.” He feels sweat trickling down his neck. If General Pryde heard about this…. “Well, man?” he yells. “What are you waiting for?”

The officer gives a short bow and scampers out of the room.

Hux collapses in his chair again and begins checking his terminal for battlestation reports. Why hasn’t he been doing this all along? He should never have left anything up to those incompetent fools—trust middle management to screw this up—

_Everything is going to be fine._

His fingers pause on the screen as a sudden calm washes over him. He leans back, settling into the cushions, and lets out a deep sigh. What is he worrying about? Everything is going to be fine, just fine.

_I am your beloved master. You want to do my will. You want to help me._

He wants to help his master. He’ll be rewarded.

_You will be Supreme Leader._

He will be Supreme Leader. A pleased chuckle floats out of his throat.

_And I will be Emperor._

“You will be Emperor,” Hux agrees.

_You want to send me a ship. Your ship. So I can be with you._

“Yes,” Hux murmurs. “You need this ship. I don’t. I want to send it to you. So you can join me.”

Dreamily, the general stands, exits his quarters, and makes his way to the cockpit of his private shuttle.

“Take the ship down to the surface,” he orders, and his voice is slow and soft. The pilot looks at him with confusion.

“Yes, sir,” he says, “but where should I land?”

_I will show him._

“My master will show you,” Hux relays, a note of jealousy creeping into his voice. “He is waiting for you.”

The pilot looks like he’s about to argue—and then his spine straightens, and his face softens, and he nods. “Yes, sir. Our master is waiting.”

Hux steps down the entry ramp of his private shuttle and back into the docking bay on the _Steadfast._ He watches with a faraway look as his shuttle lifts off and begins descending to the planet below. Then he turns and wanders slowly into the halls of the star destroyer, not noticing the strange looks thrown his way.

He is waiting for his master.

***

She doesn’t know how long she lies there in the darkness and the silence. It is no blissful sleep; pain has been replaced with numbness, but even unconscious, she is restless and afraid.

She sees Ben in a sudden flash—running at full tilt through the canyon, sliding around corners with only a blaster in hand, hair flying and mouth set in a grim, determined line—coming to find _her_ —and though he takes out the black-cloaked figures trailing him with barely a second glance, she knows there are more. Too many. Her mind shifts uneasily. _He needs help. He needs me. I have to—get up—_

But she can’t break her mind free of the fog to open her eyes or make her limbs move. Everything feels heavy. Numb. And still, there is that undercurrent of loss.

 _Rey,_ she hears.

And it must be her mind playing tricks on her, because Leia is dead, and she has lost the Force, and she will never hear that voice or feel that parental, guiding warmth again.

 _Rey,_ she hears again. _My girl, you have to get up._

 _I can’t,_ she whimpers to the voice, even though it can’t possibly be real. _I can’t, I can’t._

 _You can._ Leia’s voice says. _And you will. The galaxy needs you. The Force needs you. Ben needs you._

 _How can I do anything without the Force?_ Rey cries. _I was nothing until I found my powers, and now—_

 _You were never nothing,_ Leia says firmly. _Not then and not now. Trust yourself, Rey. Trust those of us who love you. You will find strength in yourself, and in us. We will be with you. Even without the Force, you are not alone._

Rey feels a sudden warmth flood her body. The tension in her mind and muscles eases; strength returns, though that sense of emptiness without the Force is still there. She feels herself slipping back toward consciousness.

And she realizes, suddenly and clearly, that this strength must be coming from somewhere—someone—and Leia’s presence hasn’t faded.

 _Leia!_ She grasps at nothing, trying to stay here just a little longer. She can almost feel Leia smiling at her.

_Remember: you are not alone._

She wakes up.

She is lying on the cave floor, one arm crumpled awkwardly beneath her torso. Her hair has come loose, falling across her face, and she thinks—she hopes—it blocks her eyes enough that Sheev won’t notice she’s awake. She opens her eyes just a crack—then a little wider—to see Sheev standing at the foot of the coffin, his back to her, looking up at the sky through the crack in the ceiling. One hand is raised, but he is silent and still, and she wonders with dread what he could be doing.

Experimentally, she twitches her fingers, shifts her ankle, takes a deep but quiet breath in. The pain is still there, but it is muted enough that she will be able to move again.

_Thank you, Leia._

Her gaze lands on her lightsaber, still ignited several feet away on the floor. She will need it if she wants any hope of defending herself. If only she still had the Force, she could—

But no, now’s not the time for regret. She glances at Sheev once more and prays for stealth as she begins, silently, to lift herself onto her hands and knees and inch toward her saber. She feels clumsy and heavy without the Force to smooth her movements—but even before it awoke in her, she was graceful, and she slips across the cave floor with hardly a sound, all the while urging her mind to be blank, her emotions calm and unreadable.

When her staff is within reach, she steels herself. She must be quick. In one smooth motion, she grabs the hilt, leaps to her feet, and plunges the blade toward Sheev’s back—

But before she can even get close, his hand is up, and a gleaming red lightsaber flies out of the cracked coffin and into his hand, and he spins and meets her strike with a cackle.

“Foolish child!” He shoves with his saber, and she stumbles back, desperately trying to keep her feet. “You think you can defeat me? I, who once ruled the galaxy? I, who returned from the dead? I, the greatest Sith who ever lived?” He throws back his head and laughs, and the red glow from his lightsaber makes the once kindly face look demonic.

Her eyes flick across him, seeking an opportunity. He holds his blade loosely at his side, but his almost casual stance is belied by his eyes, cold and alert. She lifts her staff and charges; again her blue meets his red in a shriek of light, and a surprising strength pushes her away. Again she attacks, and again she is repulsed.

Rey pants, circling him. He shows no sign of effort. He can’t seem to stop laughing, as if this is all just a game to him. He is toying with her, she knows, enjoying the first flood of power in so many years on such easy prey. Irritation pulses in her gut. She is no toy.

“You’ll never defeat me with such obvious ploys, girl. I taught you better than that.” He smirks, lifting his free hand. “Have you forgotten so soon what I can do to you?”

Lightning crackles out of his fingertips. Without thinking, she lifts her saber up in front of her, planting her feet and gritting her teeth against the force of it and—miraculously—it seems to absorb and deflect much of the heat—but not all of it. When he finally lowers his arm once more, her own hands are red, shaking with effort and pain. She gasps and tries not to let her legs collapse beneath her. She doesn’t know if she can do that again.

Ben appears next to her.

He looks exhausted, and from his stance and his flickering eyes and his frantic mind, she understands that he is surrounded, with nothing but a blaster to defend himself. He needs her help, and she needs his, but they are separated by cliffs and time they don’t have, and how can they ever hope to win alone?

And then, across space and time, his eyes meet hers.

And she remembers.

She grabs hold of the bond—still there, in spite of everything—and pulls it taut, pushing an idea, a suggestion, a plan into his mind—and he nods, once. He makes his own suggestion, his trust and confidence in her flowing back to her mind like a warm breeze, and she agrees without a second thought.

Slowly, deliberately, she shifts her feet so Ben is behind her and twists her saber staff into two pieces, one weapon in each hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him turn his back to her.

Sheev laughs, eyes wide, surprised and delighted. “You think two weapons will save you where one could not? You’re even more foolish than I realized. I thought, perhaps, after all our time together, you might make a worthy opponent. But it seems without the Force, you’re nothing more than a lonely child out of your depth. And alone, you are nothing.”

Rey twists her right arm behind her back, saber pointed straight at the ground.

She feels Ben’s fingers brush hers, and she smiles.

“I’m not alone.”

Ben grabs the lightsaber.

She lifts her empty hand away.

In an instant, Sheev’s face transforms from amusement to rage. He screeches and thrusts out his hand, and Force lightning flashes across the space between them, and this time she’s not fast enough with her remaining lightsaber—

Instead, she reaches along the bond, grabs hold of Ben’s connection to the Force, and _pulls—_ feels a trickle of his power, shared with her, rush into her center—

She lifts her own hand, catches the lightning in her fist, and redirects it into the ceiling above.

Rock crumbles to the floor. Rey’s mouth twitches at a satisfied smile as Sheev’s face twists into a scowl of disbelief. This was Ben’s idea, to share his power—and though it’s not nearly as much as she had before, not nearly enough to bring down a Sith lord on her own, it is enough to smooth her breathing, speed her movements, and defend herself.

Until they can do this together, it is enough.

She lifts her saber and attacks with a howl.

***

Ben lifts Rey’s lightsaber from behind his back.

The Knights stumble backward, and he feels the shock rolling off them in waves. He smirks and gives the tiniest of bows.

 _Ta-da,_ he thinks.

Then he attacks.

He moves like a whirlwind, dodging and slicing and putting power behind every strike as he cuts down each Knight. Not for nothing was he once considered their master. He feels Rey pull some of his power into herself, and it slows him the tiniest bit—enough that it takes him two minutes instead of one to kill his enemies. He only wishes she could take more—but he is satisfied to know that it _works,_ and he imagines—he hopes for—a future where they learn, together, how to share this power more fully.

If there’s to be a future at all.

He barely pauses to take a steadying breath and give a pitying look to the dead around him before launching himself down the canyon path once more.

Before long he stops before a caved-in tunnel entrance, and he feels the bond _ping_ in his chest and knows she’s down there, somewhere, along with— _him._ His heart aches. He feels her pain and exhaustion, feels her pulling every bit of strength from him that she can. He knows she is waiting for him, and he knows she cannot do this alone—not because of who she is, or who she isn’t, or because she’s not strong without him. Force knows, he couldn’t do this on his own. Luke couldn’t. Darth Vader couldn’t.

But no one should face Sheev Palpatine alone.

He raises a hand, calls out to the Force, and lifts the fallen rock up and away. When the entrance is cleared, he hears screaming voices—the shriek of lightsabers—the crack of Force lightning.

He hefts his saber and sprints down the tunnel.

***

The Resistance’s efforts have paid off.

In the valley, Finn huddles behind a barricade, three squadrons’ worth of rebel stormtroopers awaiting his orders. They watch as enemy soldiers and walkers advance across the valley floor, knowing that their chances of victory are slim but hoping against hope that this, at last, means freedom.

In the skies above, Poe pilots the _Millennium Falcon_ while a few dozen Resistance ships, First Order cruisers, X-wings, and TIE fighters flown by rebel stormtroopers follow his lead. BB-8 dashes around the ship, putting out fires and soothing its tired joints. Rose mans the gunner station and fires off commands to the other ships, coordinating their attack. More stormtroopers wait on board the _Steadfast,_ quietly going about their duties until they get the signal.

There aren’t many of them. Not enough to launch an assault on a First Order base. Not enough to destroy their enemy completely.

But enough—they hope—to take out a star destroyer with every single high-ranking officer on board.

Finn’s lightsaber blazes red. He gives the command, and they attack.

***

Rey reaches for every bit of strength she can—in herself, and in Ben—and redirects another lightning strike. The once-smooth cave floor is littered with fallen rock, forcing her to avoid rubble as well as Sheev’s attacks as she dodges around the room. She ducks behind a boulder and takes the few seconds’ respite to catch her breath before leaping out once more.

She sprints to Sheev and swings her weapon, and their lightsabers clash in midair. He scowls at her; he’s not laughing anymore.

Her saber whips through the air as she attacks and parries and feints. She can’t get in a hit; his reflexes are quick for an old man; she’s fast enough on her own to keep up with him, but without the Force she can’t quite overpower him. But maybe—she hopes—if she can force him to keep fighting her at close quarters, he won’t be able to use his lightning, against which she has little defense and no counterattack. At least here she can protect herself.

Rey strikes again and again, and though she feels the exhaustion seeping through, she compels her muscles to just keep moving. She can feel Ben getting closer, like a spool of thread winding up; she only prays he will be fast enough.

At last, Sheev forces her back, and she leaps to find cover before he can electrify her again. She braces herself for the shock, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she hears the crumbling sounds of settling rock—the hum of lightsabers—her own heartbeat hammering in her ears—TIE fighters screaming overhead, pursued by X-wings—laser blasts and explosions—and the whirring of a ship’s engines getting closer and closer—

She peeks around the corner and swears to see a small First Order shuttle descending through the crack in the ceiling. He's going to escape. Rey’s hair swirls wildly; Sheev’s robes whip around him. His smile is back.

“I must admit, I am disappointed,” he calls over the sound of the shuttle landing in the rubble. “I thought Kylo Ren would have appeared by now. It appears I overestimated how much he cares for you.” He tuts. “No matter. I will take his power one way or another. As I did yours.”

The shuttle hisses as the entry ramp descends. A slack-jawed First Order pilot appears, followed by three stormtroopers. “Much as I have enjoyed our little game,” Sheev continues, “my army is waiting for me.” Sheev nods toward Rey’s hiding spot. “Kill her.”

Rey ducks back behind the boulder, heart racing. Clanking, armored footsteps approach rapidly. Can she fight all four of them at once—and Sheev—without the Force? She doesn’t have much choice. The tunnel is on the other side of the room; she could run, but she’d never make it. She steels herself for a fight.

Suddenly the air is filled with the sounds of blaster fire and screams, and she jumps around the boulder to see all three stormtroopers dead on the ground—Sheev leaping for cover—the pilot tumbling into the crevice in the cave floor with a shriek—

And Ben, standing in the tunnel entrance, blaster in one hand and her lightsaber in the other.

Their eyes lock.

His face glows blue. He has a cut on his lip, and another on his brow. His chest heaves.

He looks the same, and different. He looks the way she remembers from her dreams.

He came for her.

Ben steps into the cave. Rey steps around the rubble. From across the room, they give each other the tiniest of smiles.

As one, they face Sheev Palpatine, lower their stances, and lift their lightsabers.

Sheev laughs, high and quick and utterly mad. “How _perfect!_ I get to take your power after all, boy—and end the Skywalker line once and for all, as an extra treat. Excellent, excellent!” Sheev lifts his own lightsaber. “Can you imagine? The extraordinary power of a Force dyad, residing in one person.” He sneers. “Such a shame you won’t be around to see it.”

They whirl into battle.

If she thought she felt connected to him in their first battle side by side in the red throne room, it’s nothing to how they fight together now. She and Ben twist and dodge and parry in perfect sync with each other—she knows every move he’s going to make, every step and breath and push like it’s her own. They move as one being, and it’s _glorious._

Rey slams her saber down on Sheev at the same time Ben does, and somehow he blocks them both and shoves them away. She blocks the flashing red saber to give Ben an opening—he swipes at Sheev’s back and leaves a long slash in his robes—Ben pushes a lightning strike away from her so she can breathe—and still, though their blades whisk past his neck and stomach, they can’t break through his defenses. He can’t keep this up forever—but neither can they.

Rey’s eye catches on the crack in the stone several yards away, descending who knows how far into the planet’s surface, and an idea sparks in her mind.

 _Push him back,_ she tells Ben, and he agrees without hesitation, his trust in her absolute. Slowly, painfully, as their energy flags and their muscles tremble, they force Palpatine back, back, toward the gaping hole in the cave floor, until the three of them are practically dancing along the edge.

Rey shoves—Ben drops and swipes out with his saber—Sheev stumbles back, and she sees the fear in his eyes— _they have him now—_

And suddenly she feels her feet rising off the floor, and it’s like jaws are suddenly clamped around her throat, and _she can’t breathe—_ she drops her saber as her hands scrabble at her throat, trying to pull herself free, but there’s nothing there—Sheev has one hand lifted toward her, fingers curled, and Ben is backing away, hands in the air, eyes horrified and fixated on her—she chokes as she feels herself floating over the gaping hole in the ground—

“Let her go,” Ben pants, voice tight with panic.

Sheev’s chest heaves as he levels his saber at Ben. “Give me your power, or she dies.”

Ben takes a slow step forward, and Rey drops several feet. She cries out and immediately wishes she hadn’t—she doesn’t have the oxygen to spare. Ben backs away again. Sheev snarls. “No funny business, boy. No tricks. Drop your weapon or I _will_ kill her. Believe it.”

Her chest _burns—_ she tries to catch Ben’s eye, shakes her head— _no, don’t do this—_ but she knows he’s made up his mind—

 _Trust me,_ she hears.

And she does.

But still, as he drops his saber and kneels on the cold, hard floor, she feels terror rise up in her throat.

“Too easy,” Sheev chuckles. “Stupid boy. I told you your feelings would betray you.”

Sheev tosses his own lightsaber to the ground and thrusts both of his hands toward Ben, and Rey drops. She scrabbles to catch herself on the ledge, gasping, as her legs and torso dangle over the abyss. Sheev’s laugh is cold and deafening and never ending.

Ben’s body jerks. He grits his teeth but doesn’t scream. She feels his power draining away through the bond, and it’s just as painful as when she lost her own.

His eyes never leave hers.

She understands what she has to do.

She reaches along the bond and takes the tiniest sliver of power from the dyad—from her other half—from her soulmate.

She taps into the Force.

Both lightsabers fly into her hand.

Her body screams with effort as she hauls herself over the ledge, stumbles forward—

And plunges both blades into Sheev Palpatine’s back.

He gasps. Lightning flickers out of his hands—a dying reflex—and blasts through Rey’s limbs as she forces him back and shoves him into the pit.

And he is gone.

Rey manages to turn and see Ben unconscious—but alive, she is certain—before she collapses.

Everything is silent.

The last thing she sees, before it all fades, is the sky, bright with stars.

***

Hux shakes his head, trying to clear the fog. He feels like he's just woken up from a hundred year sleep. What… happened? He looks around at the panicking officers around him; alarms blare from every direction and make his head pound. How did he end up on the bridge? He doesn’t remember coming here. In fact, he doesn’t remember anything before…

He looks up at the sound of a ship’s engines screaming closer to see the _Millennium Falcon_ zipping toward the viewport, gun blazing.

He swears.

The bridge explodes.

***

Ben groans and rolls onto his side, clutching at his stomach. His head feels dizzy and heavy, and everything— _Force,_ everything hurts. He thinks his leg might be broken, and probably several ribs to boot.

He looks across the cave to where Rey lies, and maybe it’s the distance or the dim light, but she looks so… still. But she must be fine. If she—if she were— _dead,_ she would have become one with the Force. That’s what happens to all Jedi, when they die.

 _Unless,_ something whispers in the back of his mind, _they’re not connected to the Force anymore._

Hoping to rouse her, he reaches out along the bond and feels—

Nothing.

His heart stops.

He tries again—there must be some mistake—this can’t be possible—but—

There’s nothing.

Only a sensation like the frayed end of a rope, and a void.

_No._

Panic envelops him, and he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. He hisses in pain as his leg twists beneath him—definitely broken—then takes several quick, deep breaths and forces himself to stand. He stumbles forward—to her—he has to get to her—but the pain in his leg is too much, and his ribs hurt so much he can’t breathe, and he trips on the rubble and he can’t get his arms up in time and he lands on the cave floor again, _hard._ All the air rushes out of his lungs and he gasps. His eyes find Rey again, closer now but still not moving, and the pain is worse than before but all he can think is _not moving, not moving,_ so he grits his teeth and forces himself back up. He limps the rest of the way, dragging his injured leg behind him, and collapses on the ground next to her.

She is crumpled awkwardly, unnaturally, her arms bruised and her eyes open, staring—empty. He can’t stand to see her this way. He calls on all his strength to gather her in his arms, holding her close, rocking back and forth. His heart—his soul—his entire being cries out for her, and it is the most agonizing pain he has ever felt. The loneliest he has ever felt.

He tries to ignore the sticky feel of the matted blood in her hair and her still chest and that awful nothingness at the end of the bond, because this can’t be happening—it can’t be real—they _won,_ she’s not supposed to—she’s always been so _alive,_ she can’t be—

_She doesn’t have to be._

All at once, he knows what he has to do.

Panic and anguish fade, and in their place he finds only peace.

Gently, he lowers her body to his lap, cradling her neck in one hand and resting the other on her stomach.

He drinks in her face one last time.

He knows what this will mean for him, and he does not care.

All his life, all he has ever done is take. But this thing—this one single thing—he can give.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

The Force flows through him, soothing and reassuring. He reaches for his life force, reaches for the void where she should be—where she will be—and gives her—

Everything.

It doesn’t hurt, like he thought it might. It just feels like… breathing out.

All is silent and still. It’s only a moment, but it seems to stretch for eternity. He can’t bring himself to look.

Then the bond pulls taut.

Her stomach lifts.

Her fingers drift over his hand.

He opens his eyes to see her own eyelids flutter.

He smiles, and she smiles.

His strength fades.

His vision dims.

He feels himself slipping sideways, and all he can think is, _Thank goodness._

And then everything is gone.

***

Rey never knew how quickly it was possible for perfect joy to give way to complete, overwhelming despair.

Ben lies on the ground beside her. His chest is still. His hands are cold.

He is dead.

All of which is made worse by the fact that the Force has returned to her.

Because he gave it to her.

Which means that not only is she the reason he’s dead, as her brain keeps reminding her over and over again, but her senses are now so attuned to everything around her that she feels his absent heartbeat and unnatural stillness even more acutely.

And then there is the bond.

She is used to feeling weight on the other end—a constant presence, a _life._ Now it feels like a rope gone slack in her hands. The absence, the emptiness, the hole where Ben should be cuts her to her core.

And that feeling will never go away.

She leans into his too-still chest and sobs.

She thought losing the Force was the worst pain she would ever feel.

She was wrong.

This is infinitely worse.

Is she supposed to live like this for the rest of her life? Alone, with half of her soul missing—half of her already dead.

Something within her snaps.

Roughly, she brushes away her tears. _No._

She has finally found where she belongs. She will not let the other half of her soul fade into the night and leave her alone again.

She closes her eyes, hand on his stomach, and bends over him. _Please,_ she begs the Force, the universe, the Jedi, anyone who will listen. _Be with me. Be with me. You brought us together. You gave me strength, and him too. You can help me save him. I need you now. Be with me now._

She feels nothing.

She is angry now.

“Please!” she screams at the sky. “If being a dyad doesn’t mean _this,_ then what is the point of it?”

Still, nothing.

She buries her face in his shirt and feels hot tears trickle down her cheeks.

“You’re right,” comes a familiar voice.

Rey’s head shoots up to see several blue, glowing figures smiling down at her. Leia and Luke are here, next to a man she doesn’t recognize but in whose face she sees both of them; there’s another man who looks as weather-beaten as the old men she remembers from Jakku, but somehow much kinder; a little greenish… something with broad ears and a mischievous grin; a Togruta woman with a world-weary smile; and the longer she looks, the more she sees—not just a handful, but dozens—hundreds—thousands of men and women and others watching her proudly, stretching back as far as she can see.

"You're right," Luke says again. "We can help you."

“You’re too late,” she whispers.

“We’re here now,” Luke continues gently. “We are always with you.”

Rey’s lip curls. “What difference does it make,” she says bitterly, “if you’re not here when I need you? How many times have I begged you to show me the way?” Her voice breaks. “And you come to me _now?_ I know you’ll say that no one’s ever really gone, and you’re always with me, but _he—”_ She blinks rapidly, looks down at Ben. “He is gone. He wasn’t connected to the Force. He can’t—be like you.”

Leia kneels on the ground at her son’s head, running her ghostly fingers over his hair. “We can change that.”

Rey peers at her, a cautious hope blooming in the midst of her anger. “What?”

Luke lays his hand on Leia’s shoulder. “You and Ben are a Force dyad. Which has its advantages.”

The man who looks like Luke and Leia—and Ben, she realizes—rests his hand on Luke’s arm. “It’s impossible to stop death forever, even for a Jedi. But…” He glances at the older man next to him, who smiles and clasps his shoulder.

“I believe, just this once, the Force will make an exception.”

One by one, each Jedi places a hand on the warrior in front of them, all the way back through the crowd.

Leia meets Rey’s eyes. “You and Ben have been through more than anyone should have to go through,” she says. “But you have more ahead of you. There is much to do. Much to repair, and much to begin.” She looks down at Ben. “It’s not his time yet. The Force expects much of you. Both of you.” Again Leia looks up, and her eyes are as fiery as Rey remembers in life. “Can you do this?”

Rey nods.

She knows, instinctively, what to do.

She lays one palm on Ben’s stomach and the other on his forehead. Leia lays her hands over Rey’s.

She feels the Force surround and penetrate her; feels the balance in the universe; breathes in, and out, and lets go.

And lets the Force flow through her.

Instead of a twinge of pain in her middle, a loss of her life force as she gives it away, she feels the power of a thousand generations of Jedi—a thousand generations of victories and mistakes and joys and losses and wisdom and potential—flood her body, surging through her limbs and heart and soul, along her arms and out her fingertips, and into Ben.

The bond pulls tight.

Ben’s chest rises.

Rey sobs once with relief.

Shaking with gratitude, she looks up at Leia, who smiles fondly at her.

Almost as suddenly as they appeared, the Jedi fade.

In the back of her mind, Rey hears a voice, and she can’t tell if it’s Luke or Leia or the little green thing or all of them at once, but it doesn’t really matter.

_The Force will be with you. We will be with you. Always._

Ben opens his eyes.

She helps him sit up, so close their faces are mere inches away. His eyes are wide with disbelief; his hands shake as he lifts them to her neck, soft and tentative. She clasps his cheeks with her hands and smiles.

“Ben,” she whispers.

He gazes at her, awed, eyes flitting across her face as if he can’t believe this is real.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she murmurs, stroking his cheek.

“I had to,” he mumbles. “I had to.”

She feels what he wants—what they both want—so desperately she wonders how anyone around them could _not_ know it, even if they didn’t have the Force or a bond to tell them—and she also knows that he’ll wait for her, because he’s had enough of taking.

Her fingers brush his cheekbones, his jaw, wavering for the tiniest moment before she closes the gap between them and kisses him.

The moment their lips meet, his arm wraps around her waist, pulling her close, enfolding her in his embrace, and she is _home._

When they kissed, before, it was lusty and hungry and desperate—but this kiss is different. This is simple, chaste, but—sweet and impassioned and lingering. Real.

When she pulls back to look at him, he smiles—really, truly smiles—and, oh, it’s everything.

She’s trying to decide whether she wants to kiss him again or just keep drinking in that perfect smile when she feels Finn reaching out to her through the Force. His relief washes over her as he realizes she’s alive.

 _We won,_ he tells her. _We won, Poe and Rose and I are all okay, we took down the star destroyer, the First Order is on the run and we_ won!

And then, to her surprise, Finn asks, _Is Ben with you?_

She blinks at Ben. “Did you—run into Finn earlier?”

His smile turns a little sheepish. “Him and Rose. When I was coming to find you. They told me where you were. And threatened my life if you didn’t come back in one piece.”

She grins at him and tells Finn, _Yes, he’s here. We’re both fine._ She glances over at the First Order shuttle, still waiting next to the pit. _We’ve found a way off the planet. We’ll catch up with you later._

“Can you fly one of those?” she asks Ben, nodding toward the ship.

He snorts. “Of course.”

“Perfect.” They help each other to stand. Rey goes up on her toes to give him another quick kiss; as she turns to go, Ben grabs her around the waist and pulls her back to kiss her again, long and slow, and she feels him open the bond to tell her, _I love you._

As if everything he’s done wasn’t enough to tell her already.

She grins against his lips and wraps her arms around his neck. _I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY this update took so long!! I really struggled with this one and finally had some time to finish it because we had an earthquake here yesterday and I had to stay home from work. I hope the fact that this chapter is like twice as long as any of the others makes up for the wait :)
> 
> I really wanted to give Finn/Rose/Poe more to do but????? I don't know how to write big battle scenes????? And also I really just wanted this chapter to be finished and tbh it's more about Rey and Ben anyway soooooo *shrug* at least I gave them more to do than TROS did... I'm so sorry you three ;_; ily
> 
> The same cannot be said for the Knights of Ren. They are still nothing-plot devices, and I'm not sorry. They served their purpose haha :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! I really really hope you've enjoyed this fic. The last chapter shouldn't take too long to post (fingers crossed) because LET'S BE HONEST it's the domestic reylo bliss we've all been waiting for aaaaaand a good chunk of it has been written since I started this fic lol. It's that good good fluff that's been motivating me to finish this thing, and we are almost there folks!!


	8. Chapter 8

She tells the Resistance Kylo Ren is dead, and it’s not a lie, not really. She has a feeling Ben would agree. (So would his namesake, if he were here.)

They ask her to stay, to help take out the pockets of the First Order spread throughout the galaxy, to rebuild the Republic, to be a new symbol of hope and peace, now that Leia is gone. To rebuild the Jedi Order.

But it turns out being dead, even for a short time, takes a toll on the body.

She doesn’t know what to do next.

And she is so, so tired.

She tells them she’s leaving for a while, but she’ll be back, eventually. There are things she has to do first. Alone.

Rose, Finn, and Poe know the whole truth, of course.

They know where she’s going. And they know she’s not alone.

She cries when she tells them goodbye. The Force whispers, in the back of her mind, _You will see them again,_ and she decides to trust it, and hope.

She boards the _Millennium Falcon._ He’s waiting for her, in the copilot’s seat. He smiles when he sees her, and brushes the tears from her cheeks, and she feels a warmth in her belly assuring her that this, at least, is right.

The _Falcon_ lifts off and makes the jump to lightspeed, carrying Rey and Ben toward Ahch-To, where they can be alone, and rest, and heal.

***

They last exactly two nights on the hard stone benches the ancient Jedi called “beds” before temporarily retreating to the shabby comfort of the _Falcon_ and deciding they need to build themselves a house.

Not that they’re not grateful for the Jedi accommodations. But the ancient huts are drafty, cold, and hard, and—well, they’re not monks. Asceticism isn’t exactly conducive to healing. Rey tries to explain this to the island’s caretakers, but their offended muttering makes her certain that if there was ever a chance of her winning them over, it’s long gone.

Of course, neither Rey nor Ben having ever built any kind of permanent structure before, this will take some time. The _Falcon_ will be their home for the foreseeable future.

Ben insists that Rey take the private bunk in the captain’s quarters and he’ll sleep on the smaller one in the lounge. Rey insists the lounge bunk is too small for him, giant that he is; _he_ should take the captain’s quarters, she’ll be fine in the lounge. He just wants her to be comfortable, he’d even sleep in the cockpit if it meant she had a bunk—well it’s a good thing there are two bunks, and he’s taking the larger one, he was dead longer, he needs it more— _she’s_ just stubborn— _he’s_ being ridiculous.

In the end, they agree to take turns.

Not long into this arrangement, Rey wakes in the lounge bunk one morning to see Ben stretched out on the couch next to her.

“I had a nightmare,” he admits when he wakes up. “I wanted to be near you.”

A few nights later, Rey wakes in a cold sweat, the memory of emptiness at the other end of the bond all too real, and she throws off the blankets, pads down the hall, collapses on the couch, and lets Ben’s steady breathing lull her back to sleep.

More often than not, they find themselves both in the lounge: Rey curled on the bunk, Ben on the couch, hands lolling into the gap between them, reaching out to touch even in sleep. At first, it’s for comfort—their nightmares are more tolerable when they’re together. But it’s not long before it becomes pure habit, even when the nightmares don’t come. Ben stops going to the captain’s quarters altogether except to change clothes, choosing instead to flop down on the couch every night; Rey quickly follows suit, leaving a pillow and blanket permanently in the lounge.

After a while, they agree that, if they’re going to sleep side by side anyway, they might as well be comfortable.

The first night they settle into the captain’s bunk together, Ben’s arms around her, his breath warm on the crown of her head, it feels so perfectly natural that Rey wonders how she ever slept alone.

***

And so, steady and deliberate, they heal.

They draw up plans for their house and start building. It will be small—barely an improvement on the stone huts—but it will be theirs. It will have a kitchen, and a garden, and hopefully running water and electricity, if Rey can successfully repurpose her knowledge of star destroyer engineering to more domestic pursuits. It will also have only one bedroom, they agree—there’s not really room for two, Ben reasons, avoiding her eyes, and anyway they’re already sleeping in the same room, so what does it matter? (Rey hopes, but does not say aloud, that in the near future, there will be additional reasons for them to share a room.)

They haul Luke’s X-wing out of the ocean and start tinkering, trying to undo a decade’s worth of damage from salt and waves. They go fishing, and Ben convinces the caretakers to show them which of the island’s plants are edible, and very occasionally they break their seclusion to go on supply runs to other planets. (Rey refuses to drink the sea-cows’ milk.) They meditate in the temple; when they’re feeling strong enough, they run simple drills with their twin lightsabers.

Ben works constantly—too much, Rey worries at first. They’re here to heal, but he barely gives himself time to rest, between working on the house and the X-wing and the million little projects he finds to do around the island. But she understands quickly that, for him, the work _is_ healing.

All he’s done for so long is destroy. He wants to create.

Still, sometimes she forces him to take a break, tempting him away from his work with murmured promises of more interesting distractions. Often the distraction is exploring the island together, tramping along its hills and cliffs until they know every nook and cranny, every stream and path and cove by heart. Other times, the distraction is her, and she tugs him away to pepper him with kisses and feel his hands in her hair.

Her diversions don’t always succeed. Some days, when the rain lashes the island too heavily to do much besides huddle indoors, or when he’s too winded to finish his exercises, she finds him in the pilot’s seat on the _Falcon,_ staring out the window to the pounding waves beyond. The bond fills with mourning and remorse, quiet, deep, and lasting. A sense of wrongs waiting to be put right, and an uncertainty of how to begin. She doesn’t have answers for him. She’s still looking, too.

On those days, she kisses his head and squeezes his shoulder, and he takes her hand in his and squeezes it back, and she leaves him to his thoughts.

This is one thing she cannot heal. She’s not sure it would be right, even if she could.

***

Soon enough, their house is finished. It is cramped, and bare, and a little lopsided, but Rey thinks she might never see Ben this proud of himself again.

Most people, upon seeing the building for the first time, might charitably call it a “hut.” They call it a cottage.

They fill their little cottage with bright colors and every blanket they can find on the _Falcon._ Dry wood is scarce on the island, but somehow they manage to scrounge enough to keep their fireplace fed. Not that they need it—Rey rigs up a generator in the crashing waves below, and they have electric heat and a stove and mercifully warm baths—but they both find comfort in the whispering flames.

Rey’s idea of “cooking” is reconstituted bread made from water and dried stormtroopers’ rations. Although Ben is also not much of a cook, he flatters himself he has better taste and promptly designates himself head chef in their household. Rey, lover of all growing things, takes charge of the garden and makes it thrive, while Ben learns to bake bread and roast fish and braise the mysterious tubers and leafy greens Rey contributes to their meals.

He calls her his flower.

He tries out a handful of pet names—the usuals, and some more creative options, all of them cloying and corny—before landing on this one.

When he uses it for the fifth time in as many days over a game of dejarik on the _Falcon_ , Rey wrinkles her nose and says, “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, considering the board. “I think it’s appropriate, considering how much time you spend in the garden.”

“Wouldn’t ‘my gardener’ be more accurate?”

“I suppose. But not nearly as sweet.” Then he directs one of his pieces to body slam one of hers to the table. He grins at her, and the words that come out of her mouth are decidedly not sweet.

His jaw twitches as he tries not to laugh. “I _have_ been playing since I was two. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“You didn’t have to win so _thoroughly,”_ she grumbles.

He scoots closer and takes her hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips. “How can I make it up to you?”

She feels her mouth pulling at a mischievous smile and forces it into a pout instead. “A kiss from the victor?”

His eyes flicker to her lips. Slowly, slowly, he leans in until his mouth is teasingly close to hers, then dips his head at the last moment and murmurs in her ear, “Anything for you, my flower.”

She groans. “You do realize that’s no less cheesy than ‘sweetheart’ or ‘my love’ or ‘Rey of sunshine,’ right?” But even as she complains, something in her melts at the rumble of his voice, the feel of his lips brushing her earlobe, the sound of his words—cheesy as they are—and she pulls his mouth to hers.

He kisses her back, slowly, pressing her into the couch, drawing his hands lightly over her thighs, hips, waist—but too soon, he pulls away. “‘My flower’ it is, then,” he says, hoarsely.

An aching rises in her throat as he stands. She wants to pull him back down and pin him to the couch—tug his shirt over his head and run her hands across his chest—feel his arms crush her to him and his lips set her skin aflame—

But she feels, as she always does when they get this far, a fear in him, and she lets him go.

“I’d better go start dinner,” Ben says. He leans down and kisses her cheek—hesitates—then disappears down the entry ramp.

Rey lies down on the couch, runs her hand through her hair, and stares at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh.

When he kisses her, he is gentle—soft—too soft. His lips brush hers for the barest moment; his hands graze her hips, cheeks, neck with the lightest of caresses, as if she’s a fragile thing, liable to break under his touch. She can sense his self-restraint, his desire just barely held at bay, like an ocean held back by a thumb in a dam.

But she is not fragile. He might call her his flower, but she calls herself a weed and thinks it a compliment, because only the toughest plants survive the harsh sun and thrashing wind and lonely nights of Jakku.

No, she is not fragile. She wants more. She has been alone in the desert for so long; she is ready for the flood.

She wants the dam to burst. She wants to drown in him.

***

She takes the X-wing out for jaunts across the waves, purely for the pleasure of flying it. The fighter is old but quick, and she spins and dives over the water and sees how fast she can make it go, with nothing to block her way for miles and miles. She leans her head against the window and watches the endless blue pass beneath her wings.

She wonders, sometimes, if she has exiled herself to another kind of desert.

But then she reminds herself that just beneath the water’s surface, this planet teems with fish and sharks and sea monsters. There was nothing beneath the sands of Jakku but the bones of old star destroyers. The desert offered her only death. The ocean whispers promises of new life.

Mostly, they are content on their little island. She loves the cooing Porgs and her blossoming garden; he embraces the salty ocean air and broad horizon. They’re reluctant to leave. They understand why this was the site of the first Jedi temple: the Force is in perfect balance here, and they feel a sense of peace neither one of them has felt anywhere else.

(It might not be just the island that gives them that feeling.)

Still, they’re restless creatures at heart. After a lifetime in the desert, she never thought she’d tire of green cliffs and endless rain; after years cooped up on space stations, he never thought he’d miss the constant whir of engines and beeping of droids. But some days she’s surprised to find herself perched on the balls of her feet, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice toward—she doesn’t know where. He finds himself drumming his fingers on the windowsill, looking up at the sky and waiting for—he doesn’t know what.

And then, on one of her flights, Rey spots another island.

She knew there were more, of course, though they are few and far between. But, somehow, it never occurred to her until this moment that she could go to them.

So they start exploring.

The other islands are much the same: more green, more rain, more gentle creatures who haven’t seen a human in centuries. But when the stillness becomes too loud, new cliffs and shores and paths calm their wanderers’ souls. One can only spend so much time secluded on an island a few miles square, Rey observes, without going a little bit mad.

They find lakes so clear they can see all the way to the bottom, hundreds of feet down; waterfalls so powerful it’s a wonder they haven’t carved through to the planet’s core; caverns that glow at night as powerfully as the sun.

They find ruins of settlements whose inhabitants’ memories have long since faded from the galaxy. They wander and wonder who lived here, what their lives were like, what their stories were. Maybe these were ancient Jedi; maybe they were common folks, trying to carve a living out of the galaxy like everyone else. Even the Force tells them nothing.

They find a forest with trees taller than Rey has ever seen in her life. She stares up into the canopy, open-mouthed, and Ben laughs and promises her he’ll take her to the forest moon of Endor someday, where the trees are even more massive.

“They get _bigger?”_ Her eyes are wide with delight.

“Yeah. But even they’re nothing compared to the ones on Kashyyyk. We’ll go there, too.” Rey grins, throws her head back and her arms in the air, and spins in circles as she takes in the view above her, because what else can she do in the face of such beauty?

(Ben is all of a sudden piercingly aware, as he frequently is nowadays, of how happy he is, and his cheeks hurt from smiling as he watches her, because what else can he do in the face of such beauty?)

When exactly they will visit Endor and Kashyyyk and all the other places Ben wants to show her remains uncertain. By now, they’ve healed, mostly. But, restless as they are, they’re not quite ready to leave Ahch-To. This is their home, their refuge. They know that the galaxy—or, at least, certain people in it—are waiting for them to decide what the future holds for them. But the truth is, they still don’t know.

Should they rebuild the Jedi Order, or let it die?

They discuss it constantly: during training, over dinner, while exploring, on the _Falcon,_ in the evenings before the fire. Even when they’re not talking, the question waits patiently in the backs of their minds, sometimes prodding them gently to remind them it’s still there.

They go round and round in circles. The Jedi died out for a reason; perhaps they should stay dead. —But the Sith will certainly not stay dead; shouldn’t there be something in place to oppose them? —Perhaps. But the Jedi were wrong about so many things, and caused so much pain. —They did a lot of good, too. Can the galaxy manage without them? —It seems to have managed just fine for the last several decades. —Not exactly. What about the Empire? The First Order? —Luke thought the Jedi should end. —Luke admitted he was wrong. —Luke jumped straight into rebuilding the Order after the Empire fell, and that didn’t exactly turn out well. —But why would the Force have bonded us, given us the power of a dyad, if it doesn’t expect us to do something with it?

They repeat the same arguments again and again, each alternately taking one side and then the other. Some nights they go to sleep thinking they’ve made their decision, only to wake the next morning feeling newly uncertain.

They see Luke and Leia, every so often, and other ghosts whose names and faces become almost as familiar to them: Yoda (whose impish smile Rey doesn’t trust one bit), Ahsoka (whom Rey trusts absolutely), Obi-Wan Kenobi (“Call me Ben,” he winks), Anakin (whose eyes glow a little brighter whenever he looks at his grandson). Sometimes they manifest fully enough to dispense sage but vague advice; more often they appear as snatches of blue in the corner of her vision, whispers beneath the pounding rain, or half-remembered dreams.

“Of course we’d like to see the Order rebuilt,” Luke tells them once. “But our time is past. It’s up to you, now.”

They agree that, regardless, it would be better to wait longer and come to the right decision than jump into the wrong one. No matter how long it takes. The galaxy will still be there, when they’re ready to come back.

With their house complete and their strength returning, their attention turns to training. Ben teaches her how to utilize the Force more as she fights, dragging enemies closer or knocking them off balance to give herself more opportunities to strike. Rey teaches him to fight with a staff and pushes him to improve his speed and agility. They meditate, study the foundational Jedi texts, and commune with the Force, seeking guidance and peace.

They test what they’re capable of as a dyad, and what that means for them in combat. They learn to push and pull along the bond, to share energy and pass objects back and forth, to communicate in their minds instead of their voices and read each other’s subtlest emotions. Their confidence in each other as partners grows every day. Alone, they are formidable. Together, they are unstoppable.

Still he holds himself at a faint distance from her. He thinks she doesn’t notice, but she does. She notices the way he tries not to touch her too often or for too long—the tension in his muscles whenever her hand sweeps across his as they spar—the part of his mind and emotions he keeps closed to her, even now. He’s afraid—of what, she does not know.

He loves her; she knows he does. But there are days, more and more often, when she wants him so badly she thinks it might swallow her whole.

***

She talks to Finn, Rose, and Poe often over the _Falcon’s_ hologram system. Their faces flicker and their voices sound tinny; it’s not the same as being with them, of course, but she’s worked too hard to find this family, and she’s not losing them now. She tells them about the islands they’ve explored, the plants she’s growing in her garden, and the newest ways she’s found (accidentally, she insists) to peeve the island’s caretakers. Though he doesn’t join her for these chats, she tries to casually insert Ben into the conversation. She sees their muscles stiffen and their eyes drop at the sound of his name, but they ask politely about him and never say what she knows they’re thinking, for which she is grateful.

She understands, of course. Still, she thinks—she hopes—that someday they will come around.

They tell her about hunting down First Order bases and rebuilding the Republic. Poe has been advanced to a general, now that Leia’s gone. The position seems to suit him, though he sometimes sneaks out to go on missions himself with Rose and Finn. Rose tells her excitedly about working with ex-stormtroopers to map out potential First Order hiding spots and gives her advice about fixing up the X-wing. Finn is thrilled with the number of stormtroopers they’ve managed to de-program and the old friends he’s reunited with; he tells her proudly about the progress he’s made in his Jedi training, which he’s continued on his own.

Rose and Finn can’t seem to keep their eyes off each other, or stop finding reasons to touch. Rey smiles; Poe rolls his eyes.

“You wouldn’t think it’s so cute if _you_ were around them all day,” he says.

Finn smirks. “Just because you’re too scared to ask Kaydel for a drink—”

“I’m not scared! She’s—she’s busy! I’m a kriffin’ _war hero,_ I’m not scared to ask a girl—”

“Don’t worry, Poe,” Rose says, patting his arm with a teasing smile. “Someday you’ll find your soulmate, too, and you’ll be as unbearably happy as the rest of us.”

They joke and laugh until their sides hurt and tell Rey how much they miss her (though they kindly refrain from asking when she’s coming back), and it’s almost like old times.

Finn asks her, once, if she still sees visions when she and Ben touch, hoping perhaps for a snatch of the future: the galaxy’s, the Jedi Order’s, his. But they’ve seen nothing since Korriban. (Not that the visions were ever very solid, or helpful.) Rey suspects the Force only shows them the future when they have made a decision—a potential outcome, should they continue down the path they have chosen—and they haven’t been making many decisions, lately.

She knows how desperately Finn wants to become a Jedi, and she thinks he deserves the chance. She just wishes she had more answers.

***

She wakes in Ben’s arms late one morning, light flooding through their window. Sleepily, she burrows closer to him, aching for his warmth. She knows he’s awake when his arms tighten around her, ever so slightly.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, kissing the top of her head.

She half expects him to roll out of bed, complaining that they’ve slept too long and they have things to do, but he seems content this morning to stay here, in the softness of the pillows and mattress and girl next to him. They doze in and out, letting the sun travel across the blankets.

He traces gentle circles over her back with his fingers. She presses a kiss to his collarbone, after a while, and he kisses her forehead, and something purrs deep in her chest. Slowly, lazily, she lets her lips trail up his neck, and along his jaw, and behind his ear. His muscles stiffen; his hand freezes at her back, and she thinks, resigned, _Ah, this is it, then._

But then his lips are on hers, slow and soft, and his hands are slipping beneath her shirt, along the bare skin of her back. She sinks into the kiss and tugs him closer, fingers clasped in his hair. She is suddenly, blissfully awake, every nerve in her body electrified. His kisses grow urgent, deep and quick. He rolls on top of her, twining their hands together above her head, burying his face in her neck. His mouth finds a spot behind her ear that makes her shiver and sigh—

And the pressure of his body is suddenly gone. He rolls onto his back and pushes a hand through his hair, breathing heavily. “Sorry—I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I got—carried away—”

Rey’s heart hammers in her chest. She swallows her disappointment, finds resolve in its place, props herself on one elbow, and takes his hand in hers, kissing it. “No, you didn’t,” she says, quietly, firmly. “I wanted—I _want…_ this. You.”

Ben’s eyes widen; his gaze flickers down her body before fixing, determinedly, on her face. She feels the fear and desire warring in him, rolling off him like a tsunami.

“What are you afraid of?” she whispers.

He hesitates. She waits.

“Taking,” he whispers back.

The bond tightens as he opens his mind to her, showing her at last that part he’s been holding back, filling the bond with memories of all the times—before he changed—when he pulled her to him with lust, and a desire to have, to possess. She feels his fear and remorse like a knife, and at last she understands.

 _All my life, I’ve taken what I wanted with no regard for others. I let my passion rule me, and it led me to darkness. But I—I’m done with taking._ His eyes bore into hers, pleading, repentant. _I don’t want to take from you._

She is silent. She listens to her heartbeat, and his; last night’s rain dripping from the eaves outside; songbirds proclaiming, _Morning, it is morning._

“Passion isn’t one thing,” she says after a while, trailing her fingers down his chest and letting her eyes drift with them. She speaks slowly, putting ideas into words for the first time and realizing, as she says them, that they are true. “Passion can be anger, fear, hatred—but it can also be love, and thrill, and joy. And peace—peace can be balance and acceptance, or it can be denial, or willful ignorance.” She twines their hands together again. “Passion led you to the dark. But it also led you to me. It led you back to the light. Passion is not one thing. _You_ are not one thing.” He closes his eyes. His breath shudders. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Seeking peace does not mean shutting out love.”

She opens her mind and floods the bond with everything she feels, everything she wants: her hope, her desire, her joy, her aching, desperate hunger—and her love, unending and profound.

She brushes her fingers across his cheek. Where there used to be a scar, his skin is smooth and unblemished, as if the mark never existed at all.

 _This isn’t taking_ , she says, after a moment. _It’s trust._

Their eyes meet.

The fear is gone. In its place, she feels only love—as abiding and sincere and true as her own.

He smiles.

She kisses him.

This time, he holds nothing back.

She slides on top of him, tilts her head to kiss him more deeply, lets her mouth wander to his forehead and eyelids, nips at his ear and is delighted to feel him quiver. His hands slide down her back, fingers slipping beneath her shirt again, and her skin thrums with every touch. He pulls her mouth back to his and he’s kissing her again and again, and it’s hungry and sloppy and passionate and exactly what she’s wanted for so, so long.

He rolls her onto her back, pressing her down into the sheets. His lips find her mouth, her neck, her collarbone, her belly. She tugs his shirt over his head and traces his frame with her fingers and meets his desperate kisses with her own. She melts beneath his touch as he sweeps his hands across her body, tender and searching, as if reassuring himself she is here, she is real, they belong to each other. Every feeling is amplified through the Force—every touch and gasp and sigh and moan is magnified through the bond.

It’s everything he thought he’d never have, and everything she’s been aching for, and more. Better.

By the time they leave their room that morning—well, it’s no longer morning.

***

He finds every possible excuse to touch her now.

They’ll be out exploring another island, talking and wandering and hardly taking in their surroundings because their eyes are on each other, and he’ll pause to help her scrabble up rock faces or across chasms. (Not that she needs help, but she won’t say no to his palms at her waist.) Wherever they go, their hands are clasped together, fingers interlocked.

They’re walking through a forest, once, bright and green and delightfully alive; Ben points out a bird and tells her its name; she tugs him through a stream, splashing him and laughing at his open-mouthed indignation—when she gets a sudden feeling of having seen this before, done this before—their eyes lock, both remembering a long-ago dream, shared across the galaxy, and waking, impossibly, next to each other—and then Ben’s mouth quirks in a grin as a wave of water, propelled by the Force, splashes over her from behind. She gasps at the sudden shock of cold, and he snorts with laughter. She tackles him.

On nights when storms bluster outside, they curl up by the fire and read in comfortable silence, listening to the crackling logs and beating rain. Every now and again, he reaches across the space between them to squeeze her hand.

He lets himself get too close when they spar, missing chances to score a hit so he can sweep his fingers across her leg or graze his knuckles over her cheek. More than once, she wins a match because he can’t help but let his guard down. More than once, he wins because she can’t either. (More than once, sparring matches turn into wrestling matches turn into… well.)

He seems most tempted when they cook together in the evenings. In their tiny kitchen, it would be hard to avoid touching even if they wanted to (and they don’t want to). Mealtimes become a nightly dance of snatched kisses and wandering hands.

One night, he’s kneading bread dough while she stands at the sink, washing a dirty peeler they’ve let languish here for days and which they now desperately need to make their meal. She feels him step up behind her and reach over her shoulder to grab a bowl—and at the same time feels his nose and mouth brush the top of her head, inhaling her scent, feels his other hand draw across her waist, gently pulling her hips to his, leaving a floury handprint on her tunic. Then he’s gone, her skin tingling from his touch.

She’s amused, later, to find the bowl clean, untouched and unnecessary for their dinner.

She makes sure she’s standing at the sink again when he goes to put the bowl away. When she feels his arm reach around her and his fingers play at her hip, she turns to face him. He hovers over her, leaning on the shelf above her head, his body pressing her gently back into the counter and a hint of that irresistible grin tugging at his lips. And, Force knows, she can’t resist. She takes his face in her hands and pulls his mouth to hers. His hand drops from the shelf to the small of her back without hesitation, pulling her close.

They may be coy, sometimes, and take pleasure in each other’s casual touches and subtle glances, but they’re no longer shy.

Before long he has lifted her onto the countertop, and her legs are wrapped around his waist, and he’s pushing aside her hair to press fervent kisses to her neck, her jawbone, her ear, and she opens the bond to push thoughts of _bed_ into his mind because her lips are otherwise occupied—and he obliges, lifting her into the air, hands palming her thighs, and carrying her down the hall to their room.

The dishes can wait. (Again.)

***

Much as they would like to spend every waking moment exploring Ahch-To (and each other), the thrilling discovery of new love doesn’t mean an end to their responsibilities.

They still spend a great deal of time training. They meditate, they run lightsaber drills, they lift rocks with the Force, they run, they spar. Their fights are lightning-quick; they are evenly matched, each struggling to gain the upper hand over the other. It’s difficult to score a hit when you know your partner’s every thought—every move—every breath.

Their strength as a dyad, they discover, relies a great deal on their emotions: their willingness to let each other in, and their ability to listen and feel and understand. They are surprised and pleased to find that, because neither of them is holding anything back anymore—no fear, no pent-up frustration or desire—their strength continues to grow. Almost every day, Rey thinks it’s not possible, they’ve certainly reached their peak—and almost every day, she is wrong.

Some days are not so good. They still have nightmares; he still finds himself spiraling into dark thoughts and self-loathing; she still struggles with loneliness, and restlessness, and learning to be patient with herself. On those days, when their footwork grows sloppy and they start to yank on the bond instead of coax it, they end their practice early. Sometimes they spend the rest of the afternoon seeking out new islands. Sometimes they return to the cottage, curl up by the fire, and murmur soothing words to each other long into the night. (Sometimes—alright, frequently—they find more… exciting ways to comfort each other).

But those days are rare, and growing rarer. (Well, the bad parts of bad days. The good parts of bad days are too fun to give up.) Most of the time, they fight as one, united in every motion and thought, polished and perfectly matched and meticulously balanced.

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey imagine she would know someone as well as she knows Ben. No matter how often she told herself her parents were coming back for her to whisk her away to a new life elsewhere in the galaxy, she knew, deep down, that she would live and die on Jakku. Alone. To know Ben’s every thought and emotion and action as well as he knows them himself is a kind of intimacy she never thought she would experience and knows she will never experience with anyone else. That she has Ben at all is a surprise and a blessing—that she is bonded with him in such an infinitely rare, incredibly powerful, tangible way is an absolute miracle. She is thankful for it—for him—every single day.

Of course, the ultimate question still lingers.

All their training will do neither them nor anyone else in the galaxy any good as long as they stay secluded on Ahch-To. Tempting as it is to stay here forever, just the two of them—and, Force, if she isn’t tempted—they must make a decision about their future sooner or later.

Her friends ( _their_ friends, she insists) would prefer sooner. They still don’t ask her about it directly, when she talks to them, but they drop hints with increasing frequency.

She answers a call once and is surprised to find only Finn on the other end. She’s used to seeing at least two of them; she wonders with a sliver of foreboding why he’s alone this time.

They launch into their usual greetings and news (the other day, she discovered the ruins of a village built into the side of a cliff; last night he managed to lift an X-wing off the ground for several seconds with the Force) before dropping into an awkward silence. It’s unlike them. But even halfway across the galaxy, Rey can tell Finn is anxious about something—maybe this is why he wanted to talk to her alone. At last, he opens his mouth to speak.

“Are you—” He cuts off, thinks for a moment, tries again. “Have you and Ben, uh, made a decision yet? About—about the Jedi?”

Her heart sinks. She shakes her head. “We’re still talking.”

“Ah.” His face falls, though he tries to hide it. “I just—well I was just wondering, because it’s been a while, and—I could sure use your help.” He holds up his hands defensively, his words coming out in a rush. “And—and I’m not trying to pressure you, or anything, but there have been some—developments.”

She sits up straighter. Developments. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, everything’s fine. But we’ve got a lot of new people around the base lately, what with all the ex-stormtroopers we’ve added to the ranks and the displaced families we’re trying to help resettle. And… well, several of them are Force sensitive.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re sure?”

Finn nods firmly. “Positive.”

“And,” she says slowly, “do they also want to become Jedi?”

“They do.” He hesitates. “I’ve been teaching them, actually.”

Rey’s face broadens with a grin. “That’s wonderful! They’re lucky to have you for a teacher.”

His cheeks flush. “Thanks. I’m trying. But I can only teach them what I know, and… I don’t know that much. You’d be a much better teacher for them than I am. Heck, _I_ still need a teacher.” The tiniest note of frustration creeps into his voice. “If you were here, it might not have taken this long for me to pick an X-wing a couple inches off the ground.”

Her heart plummets as his words hit her.

Finn notices her face fall, and immediately he looks remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was unfair of me.”

“No,” she sighs. “You’re right. We’ve been… taking a long time. It’s a hard decision.”

“I know,” he says. “I don’t mean to make it harder. I just thought you should know there are more of us now. And probably more out there somewhere. Waiting for you.”

“Yeah.” She gives him a weak smile. “I just wish I had more to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says airily, and though he waves his hand like he’s batting the idea away, she can hear the disappointment in his voice. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked. But seriously, we miss you. If you don’t come back soon, I might have to resort to drastic measures.” He glances around surreptitiously, then leans in closer, half-whispering, “I’m gonna ask Rose to marry me any day now, and then you’ll _have_ to come back. She’d kill you if you missed the wedding.”

“Assuming she says yes.”

“Ha,” Finn says drily, leaning back in his chair.

She smiles, sincere and warm. “Joking. I’m really happy for you, Finn. Truly. Give Rose my best. I expect to be the first to hear when she does say yes!”

“Of course.” He grins and waves, and the hologram fades.

For days, she can’t get his words out of her head.

 _If you were here,_ she hears over and over again as she runs drills with her saberstaff, the phrase becoming a refrain in her head. _If you were here. If you were here._

 _There are more of us now,_ she hears as she weeds her garden, imagining the hundreds—thousands of Force sensitive people in the galaxy with no one to guide them.

 _Waiting for you,_ she hears as she works on the _Falcon,_ calculating how long it would take her to get back to the Resistance headquarters if she left now.

She thought they were being wise. Thoughtful. Patient. And maybe they have been.

But maybe they’ve been delaying, too.

Have they been so wrapped up in themselves—so stuck going in endless circles—so scared to make the wrong decision—that they’ve neglected to make any decision at all?

A few nights later, she tosses and turns and thinks for hours before finally drifting off to sleep, hoping that rest and dreams will calm her nerves.

But in the morning, the thoughts are still there, circling her like hawks. She kisses Ben on the cheek after breakfast and tells him she’ll be back by sundown. He nods but doesn’t ask where she’s going, which is a good thing, because she doesn’t know yet.

She wanders down to the shore and watches the waves roll in and out and in. She scrambles up cliffs to a porg nest to check whether the eggs have hatched yet (they haven’t). She putters about the old Jedi huts until the caretakers shoo her away, complaining (she thinks) of all the repairs they’ll have to make if she hangs around much longer. She climbs the emerald green hills, and pauses before the ashes of the ancient tree where the Jedi texts were once stored, and perches on a boulder overlooking the _Falcon_ to eat the fruit she snatched from the garden on her way out.

And all the while, she thinks, and thinks.

What should they do? What _can_ they do? What do they owe to the galaxy? The Force?

Eventually—inevitably, perhaps—her feet lead her to the temple.

Her footsteps echo in the cavern at the top of the cliffs. This room is always strangely silent: she should still be able to hear the porgs and the waves and the wind from here, but somehow it is still and quiet. Peaceful. A sanctuary within a sanctuary. She stops before the pool, examining the mosaic at its bottom—light and dark, together, balanced—before skimming her fingers along the water’s surface and stepping outside.

The noises of the island come rushing back, and she feels the sound pumping through her veins, calling out: _Alive, alive, alive._

Rey sits cross-legged on the stone at the top of the cliff—the same spot where she first learned about the Force. She smiles at the memory and closes her eyes.

Her breathing falls into a gentle rhythm. Her mind clears. Her senses become attuned to the flow of the Force around her, within her: strength and knowledge, life and death, peace and passion, light and dark. Herself, an individual; herself, part of a whole.

She always struggled with meditation, before. She still does sometimes. But, for some reason, she finds it easier now. Perhaps being separated from the Force helped her understand her place in it; perhaps her soul is more balanced, now that her other half is with her; perhaps she’s just more patient than she used to be. Whatever the reason, meditation has become—most of the time—as soothing to her mind as flying or lightsaber drills.

Everything fades. Her worries are gone. She is gone.

There is only the Force.

She breathes in, and out.

When she eventually returns to herself, she’s surprised to see the sun low in the sky. Has she ever meditated this long before?

She reaches her arms high and stretches the stiffness out of her back, then slides off the rock, leans against it, and settles in to watch the seabirds dive and the sun fall.

Though her worries are back, the twisting ache in her gut has disappeared; the peace of the Force stays with her. Nothing has changed, but it all feels less overwhelming than before, and she’s able to think calmly and clearly for the first time in days.

Should the Jedi come back?

She remembers herself as a child, reaching out for her parents, begging them to come back for her—desperate not to be alone—looking for someone, anyone, to show her the way forward—Unkar Plutt, Han, Luke, Ben, Leia. Sheev.

Her mind drifts to Finn, aching to become a Jedi, to use his powers to make a difference in the galaxy—still waiting, after all this time, for someone to teach him. She wants so badly to give him the guidance she never had. The hope she never had.

Hope, and peace. She’s well aware that’s what the Jedi meant to the galaxy for thousands of years—what they still mean to many people. She’s also perfectly aware of their faults—arrogance, rigidity, separation—and they are not small.

She imagines growing up under the old Jedi Order: guided in the ways of the Force, but also forbidden any attachments but the Order. Permanently separated from Rose, Poe, Finn. Ben. No love, no marriage, no family. She knows the gnawing ache of loneliness; she could not bear that again.

She pictures Luke, growing up almost as lost and alone as she did, finding connection at last in his sister, his friends, his students, the Force—only to have it all ripped away again. How desperately he must have wanted the new Jedi Order to succeed; how devastated he must have been when it failed, because of his nephew, because of him; how badly he must want it to flourish now.

She pulls her lightsaber hilt from her belt and considers it, passing it from hand to hand: Luke’s old crystal at its heart, but the construction entirely her own. From the old, something new. The past not abandoned, but modified to suit her purposes. Two halves, balanced, forming a whole.

She thinks of the island: her sanctuary, her home. The peace she feels here. The fact that this planet, of all places—small, unimportant, nearly uninhabited—but somehow, miraculously, perfectly balanced in the Force— _this_ is where the Jedi began.

She reaches out along the bond, feeling for Ben on the other side, and feels him reaching back, quietly reassuring her that he is there. She understands, suddenly, like she’s known it all her life, and like she’s learning it all over again, how profoundly they are connected—as partners in the Force—as a dyad—as two halves of the same soul, united.

Peace fills her soul, as she thinks of it—the same peace she feels from the island, calm and warm and real. A peace that can only come from perfect balance in the Force.

Guidance. Togetherness. Peace.

Balance.

_That’s it._

She knows, with sudden, perfect clarity, what they have to do.

***

Rey sprints down the cliffside paths like a mountain goat, skidding on pebbles and leaping over disgruntled little fish-people, as confident as if she’d lived here her whole life. Her excitement drives her forward. She has to tell him. She slides around the last bend in the hill, and there’s the cottage, sweet and sheltered, whitewashed walls glowing in the evening light—the garden, overflowing with flowers and fruit—and—

Ben, dressed in light, loose clothes, his sleeves rolled up as he brings an axe down on a log and splits it in two. Time seems to slow as he pushes the hair out of his eyes, then arranges another log on the stump and brings the axe down again. Rey drifts unconsciously to a stop, eyes slipping from his hair to his forearms to his face knitted with concentration. She swallows. She’s suddenly acutely aware of her heart beating in her chest; her brain screeches to a halt along with her feet, and all she can think is, _Perfect. Perfect._

And then he looks up at her, and his face melts into that million-sun smile, and her brain shuts off completely.

And suddenly she’s running.

He smiles even wider, if that’s possible. “Hey there, flower. Where’ve you— _mmf—”_

He gives a startled grunt but catches her easily as she _leaps_ into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and muffling his words with a kiss. He stumbles a little but quickly catches his balance and kisses her back just as urgently.

“What’s this about?” he manages to mumble into her neck as she nips feverishly at his ear.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she growls, pulling his lips back to hers.

He’s only too happy to obey.

***

“I have something to tell you,” she says a while later, lying next to him on the floor before a purring fire. The flickering light reflects off the windows. Darkness has fallen. She can hear the porgs calling to each other and the waves crashing far below.

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes closed, trailing his fingers down her spine.

“We should build a new Jedi Order.”

He cracks one eye. “We’ve been talking about rebuilding the Jedi for months, my flower. What’s—”

She shakes her head. “Not rebuilding. _Building.”_

He opens the other eye. “I don’t follow.”

She sits up, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “By the end, the Jedi were wrong about all sorts of things. About shutting off your emotions, and about breaking off connections with people you love, and about what it means for the Force to be in balance. So we can’t rebuild the Jedi Order the way it was. Luke tried that, and he failed. There’s a reason the Jedi died out. We can’t just try it again and expect it will work this time.”

Ben sits and leans back against the couch. “But you think we should still bring it back somehow.”

She nods firmly. “Force sensitive children will not go away even if the Jedi are gone. We’re proof enough of that. But I didn’t have anyone to teach me, or show me my place in all this, and I wanted one. Desperately. And you—” His mouth quirks. “You could have used… a better teacher.” She kneels and shuffles closer to him, eyes locked on his. “We both needed someone to show us the right path.”

“You were that someone for me,” he says, taking her hand in both of his, turning it over, and pressing a kiss to her palm.

“And you were mine.” She smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, and she loses her train of thought for a moment before continuing, “But think of everything we went through to find each other, and to learn that lesson. All those years of pain and loneliness.” She scoots closer and sits next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. “The Force is a powerful tool. It can be confusing and difficult to control. If I can spare any child in the galaxy what we went through, I will. And I think the way to do that is to build a new Jedi Order—one that takes the good of the old Order and leaves behind the bad. One where we’ve learned from the mistakes of the past and where we can pass on what we know. No one ever said that we have to build it the same way it was before. We can make it new. Better.”

Ben is silent for a while. Rey watches the fire, and listens to the distant ocean, and waits.

Eventually he says, quietly, “I was such a lonely child. Made lonelier by being separated from my parents, and told to hide my feelings. Such easy prey for the Dark side.” He rubs a hand absently across her thigh. “But I don’t blame my parents for that. Or Luke, for not knowing how to teach me. I made my own choices, and I chose wrong. And I don’t know that anything I do now can ever make up for the other things I’ve done. No matter what I do, it will never be enough.” He swallows, and says nothing for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is determined. “But I can try to stop others from going down that road. I can try to help other children like me, and show them the light. I can try.”

 _“We_ can try,” Rey murmurs into his shoulder.

“I think—” He hesitates. “I think, maybe, this is why the Force made us a dyad.” She lifts her head to look at him. His eyes drink in her face. “Who else knows balance in the Force better than we do? That’s what we have to offer the galaxy. That’s what we’ll teach. Old and new. Strength and knowledge. Serenity and emotion. Passion and peace. We are both.”

“We are both.” Her heart swells. “We’ll teach both. We’ll teach balance.”

“It will be hard,” he warns, but he can’t hold back a grin. “We still have a lot to learn. And the galaxy will expect a lot from us.”

“They already do, love.”

“They’ll expect more if we call ourselves Jedi.”

“So be it.” She elbows him in the ribs. “I think the Supreme Leader and the Last Jedi can handle it.”

He chuckles. “I suppose so.”

She lays her head on his shoulder again. “So that settles it.”

He nods, taking her hand in his and playing with her fingers. “Let the new Jedi Order begin.”

The bond floods with peace. Rey lifts Ben’s hand to her lips and kisses it, then twines their fingers together.

The moment their hands lock, images flash in her mind: a temple, overflowing with sentient beings from across the galaxy—laughter and warmth—Finn, standing in front of a group of students, correcting their stances and wielding a green lightsaber—a Twi’lek child, sniffing and homesick, and Ben kneeling before her to offer a kind smile and an assurance that she’s not alone—herself, exploring an unfamiliar landscape, saberstaff in hand and a team of capable knights behind her—a trio of freckled, dark-haired children running at her and giggling madly as she and Ben scoop them into their arms—Ben at her side, smiling at her and taking her hand—Ben, kissing her—

Joy, and peace.

Her eyes meet Ben’s, and their smiles mirror each other’s: wide and delighted.

Visions are possibilities, not promises; suggestions, not guarantees. They both know this. Others have not come to pass, and never will.

But this one—they will make this one true.

Ben cups her cheeks in his hands and kisses her, and she leans into him with a smile, wrapping her arms around him. His kisses are slow and deliberate, like he wants to taste every inch of her and cannot leave a freckle untouched. It’s a different kind of passion: not desperate, but ardent and lingering. Dedicated. Attentive. Assuring her with every touch that his attention is all hers— _he_ is all hers.

 _Tomorrow,_ she tells him. _We’ll start tomorrow._

Tonight, they have each other.

Tomorrow, they will be Jedi.

Tomorrow, they will become a light for the galaxy. They will be warriors and peacemakers. They will be friends to the friendless, a home for the abandoned, a family for the lost. They will learn from the past, but let it be past; honor tradition, but forge a new path. They will be tools of the Force, and agents of their own destiny.

Tomorrow, they will board the _Millennium Falcon_ and find out what the future holds.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE. *collapses* This is the longest thing I have ever written, y'all. EVER. I had _so much fun_ writing it, but I'm very happy to have it finished so I can do other things and not have my brain yelling at me all the time to be writing haha.
> 
> One last time, thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This chapter in particular was a joy from start to finish. As I've said before, this absolute tooth-rotting fluff is what's been keeping me motivated to finish this story the whole time--the kitchen and "She wants to drown in him" scenes were some of the very first ones I wrote and I've been _dying_ to share them with you.
> 
> Thanks again. Be safe, be well, be happy. Let our two sweet dumb children be happy together forever. <3


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